When Lovers Sleep
by Raiast
Summary: Set 6 months after "Brave New World". Claire Bennet has finally put Sylar out of her mind, but one shared dream will pull him right back into her life, whether she likes it or not. Not a great summary.. full of witty banter and Sylary goodness!Iownnothing
1. Dreams That Mean Nothing and Everything

**Before we get started: You'll pretty much know where this story takes place when you read through it, but just so there's no confusion (since I probably haven't made it **_**that**_** clear, but since it's in my head I know what's going on so…):**

**Story takes place after the series finale (stupid NBC), so spoilers if you haven't finished the series yet! Claire has NOT revealed her/their secret to the world, but everything else has pretty much happened…**

**It hasn't been touched on yet, but The Wall HAS happened.**

**I think that's about it… on with this long, long, long first chapter (nearly 10,000 words!)! If you have any questions feel free to PM me or ask it in a review! IT WILL BE RESPONDED TO!**

**Love to all, and enjoy the Claire/Sylar-y goodness!**

**

* * *

**

An orange sun dipped below the horizon, tinting the sky a hot red; streaks of pink and purple were laced through higher up in the sky, melding into the deep blue of the night that was beginning to overtake the city. The city lights were blocking out most of the stars, but the few that _were_ visible seemed to be shining impossibly bright.

Wind whipped around the girl, blowing her long strands of blonde hair into her face violently. She made no move to push it out of her way, nor wipe the tears that were streaking down her cheeks silently. She stared out at the sunset gloomily, and though she soon heard someone approaching behind her, she stood stock-still, frozen in pain.

"Thought I'd find you here," he told her, coming up to stand too close behind her, glancing about the familiar rooftop. "Seems appropriate, I suppose," he nodded, his hands coming up to gather her hair and pull it over her shoulders, neatening it down her back. They then came up to her shoulders, closing the little distance between them by pulling her back against his hard body; his arms wrapped around her waist snuggly.

"I can't believe he's gone," she murmured, and her voice had a distinct sorrow to it, as if she had died along with him. Her companion didn't like it.

He pushed his lips to her temple and she gave in, relaxing against him and resting her head against his shoulder. It was ridiculous how perfectly their bodies molded into one.

"I'm so…_mad _at him!" she fumed softly. "Why wouldn't he let us help?"

"He can't live forever. He knew that," Sylar offered.

"He _could _have!" she argued. "If he'd _wanted _to."

"Hey," he frowned, spinning her on the spot to face him. His thick eyebrows furrowed even deeper when he saw her tear-streaked cheeks. He brought one hand up to her neck, using the other to dry her cheeks. "Don't take it to mean he didn't care about you. You know it wasn't like that," he stood there for awhile, cupping her face gently and staring into her eyes. Finally, he tilted his face down to hers.

"Sylar," she breathed desperately. His soft lips covered hers for the first time in thirty years, and she kissed him back…

**

* * *

**

At that moment, in two different cities, two very different people woke with a start. One smiled lazily and closed his eyes once more, drifting back into a satisfied slumber. The other lay in bed staring at the ceiling, eyes wide as she tried to work through her dream. It was only after slivers of sunlight began to slide through the cracks in her blinds that her eyes fluttered heavily and finally closed.

**

* * *

**

Claire pushed her eggs around on her plate, not really feeling up to actually putting anything in her mouth. Had she still lived under her mother's roof, she would have suffered massive interrogation regarding her lack of appetite and wandering mind. She missed seeing her mother everyday, but she was grateful for the quaint (yet pricey) one bedroom apartment she'd acquired only few blocks away from her job at a small diner, Jillie's. Living alone she could mull over her dream—_nightmare_—from the previous night in peace without having to worry about her mother, or Lyle, or, worst of all, her mother's newest love interest whom, Claire found out by staying at her mother's for the first month she was back, slept over quite often.

It had felt so…genuine. She had been thirty years in the future, had felt and remembered every day that brought her there. And Peter… she grimaced, remembering the way the life had left him as the cancer finally won. When she closed her eyes she could feel the cool wind flying around her, smell the nearby cages that randomly housed pigeons, though the rooftop had long since been abandoned.

And then there was Sylar. She didn't know why (nor particularly _want_ to know why) she had felt so safe when she was wrapped in his arms; didn't understand how everything seemed to be easier when he was there. And his lips… why had they felt so good pressed against hers? She tried to shake the thoughts from her head, but found it impossible. For some reason her dream had broken every carefully built defense against Sylar that she had put into place, and now her mind was flooded with him.

_What the hell, Sylar, _she thought angrily, stabbing her food with her fork with unnecessary force. _What are you doing to me?_ She hadn't given him a thought since she'd left college and moved back to Costa Verde—six blissful months ago. She could deal with the nightmares starring her favorite psychopath, though even _those _hadn't plagued her for quite some time. But she couldn't deal with the dreams that turned her legs to jelly and her insides to mush. Nor could she deal with feeling that fluttering and contentment when it was _his _arms she was wrapped up in. She tried to remember that it was only a dream. It wasn't as if she had _really_ been on that rooftop with him. Hadn't _really _kissed him. …Hadn't liked it…

With a frustrated sigh, Claire tossed her full plate of food in the sink for later disposal, wondering why she'd even bothered making breakfast in the first place.

Surprisingly, she couldn't help but wonder what Sylar was actually up to these days, though she vehemently told herself that she didn't care either way.

**

* * *

**

Water cascaded down his back, steam billowing from his feet and rising up to fog his vision. He stood with his head bowed under the stream of hot water, eyes closed as he willed himself to relive the feeling of holding that damn cheerleader in his arms once more. It certainly wasn't the first time he'd visited her in his sleep, but it _had _been some time since he last dreamt about her. "Claire," he muttered into the water, savoring the sweet way her name rolled off of his tongue. He couldn't even admit to himself how much he longed to utter her name like a symphony against her soft, golden skin.

He flexed and stretched under the water stream, willing the tension to leave his muscles. _How is she, _he pondered. And what exactly was she doing with her life?He knew that Claire had dropped out of school, positive that she could never live a "normal" existence (though Sylar couldn't for the life of him figure out why she would _want _to). Last he heard the former cheerleader had moved back in with her mother, Sandra in Costa Verde. "What is she doing there?" Sylar wondered aloud, as curiosity got the best of him.

_Might be time to pay that girl a visit,_ he thought absently as he telekinetically stopped the flow of water. He stepped out of the shower, pulling a towel around his waist. Next he used his hand to wipe a streak of steam from the mirror and gazed at his blurred reflection pensively.

"Claire Bennet," he said audibly, and couldn't help the smirk that tugged at his lips. "It's _definitely_ time for a visit."

**

* * *

**

"Order up!" Claire's ears perked at the call and made her way back to the kitchen window. "Table four," the young cook told her as she retrieved the dish.

"Thanks, Ben," she muttered, but before she could take three steps he called her back to the window.

"What's up with you today?" he asked her, raising an eyebrow as he studied her. His bronzed skin looked even darker than usual today, indicating that he'd likely been at the beach surfing the whole day previous, as it was his only afternoon off from the diner. His sun-bleached hair was getting longer than she'd ever seen it; wisps of bangs hung low over his brilliant blue eyes. Claire had been slightly taken with him when she had first started working there, but all those thoughts dispelled when she found out that he was a notorious flirt.

She sighed; annoyed that she couldn't get her shit together. "I'm just a little—"

"Distracted?" the attractive cook finished for her. "What's troubling that beautiful mind of yours?"

She gave him a small smile; his attention towards her had shocked her at first, but she found as soon as she settled into her new job that that was just the way he worked. "Just got a lot on my mind is all," she explained passively.

"Well you know you can talk to me about anything, anytime. _Any_time at all, okay, Claire?"

Her grin widened in gratitude, "I know, thanks, Ben."

As Claire turned back to her duties she was halted after a few steps once more. Her green eyes detected a familiar yet unwelcome presence. In the far corner booth that sat in her section…was that? No, no way. Disbelief took hold as the young waitress blinked a few times and checked again.

Her smile faltered for a moment when her worst fear was confirmed. There, lounging in that very same corner booth, sat a dark being dressed in black sat with his dark head bowed. His long, slender fingers were twisting a small cup of coffee creamer absentmindedly. She didn't need to see his face fully to feel the wave of sinister power that swept out of him. The diner suddenly felt a lot colder and hotter at the same time.

At first Claire thought she was still dreaming. With hesitant steps she went back to the window and called Ben over. "Pinch me," she demanded, "hard."

Finding her request a bit odd, the good-natured cook obliged her nonetheless, only too eager to please the pretty, young blonde. But, after suffering a slight sting from having her skin goosed accompanied by the burning humiliation, Claire only turned around to find that the nightmare was still playing. A heavy, dark dread settled in her stomach like a ton of bricks, causing her whole body to begin to tremble immediately.

"Who's that?" Ben asked over her shoulder, but Claire could form no words for an explanation. Instead, she walked over to table four and dropped off the burger and fries. Then she made her way over to the corner. _Jesus, I can't believe it's Sylar. _Had he known which section she was working, or was it a coincidence? She seriously doubted the latter.

With each step that brought her closer to him all she could think was: _why, why, why, why, why? Why is he here? Why now? Why, why, why, why?_

She halted in front of him, instinctively crossing her arms tightly across her chest. She didn't know what to say, but Sylar never gave her the chance to speak, in any event.

"Waitress, huh? I can see how this career path would be _much_ more advantageous than doing something foolish, like finishing college," he glanced up at her, that familiar, feral grin making him look like evil incarnate.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him, but her voice was barely working, and it came out like a whisper.

"Can't pay my favorite cheerleader a visit every once in awhile?" he asked innocently, his eyes dancing with an emotion unnamable by Claire. "Let's chat," he suggested, motioning to the empty seat across from him.

"I'm working," she said angrily. "Order something or go."

Sylar raised one thick eyebrow, inspecting her with a smirk. "They don't give you ladies breaks around here? I'll take a coffee," he informed her, casually leaning back in the booth like he owned the place.

"Right," she muttered uncomfortably, turning away from him as fast as she could. It took every ounce of her self-control not to stomp back to the kitchen like a child.

"Old boyfriend?" a friendly voice suddenly boomed behind her and she jumped, slopping coffee over the side of the mug and onto the counter. Ben laughed next to her. "Sorry to startle you. Don't worry, I'll clean it up."

"If you mean Mr. Gloom and Doom over there, then absolutely _not_," she answered the insane question with a firm denial. "No, no way," was all she offered as she half-heartedly wiped the side of the cup and walked back out to the floor. She was tempted to spit into his coffee just to spite him, but with each step back towards him the idea fizzled away and died.

With an angry little huff she quickly set the steaming cup in front of him wordlessly and turned away. Unfortunately, she found that turning away was the _only_ thing she could do. Soon enough she found herself fighting for control of her own limbs, furious at Sylar for pulling such a stunt in public. With the disjointed steps of a marionette, Claire's body moved of its own accord as she was forced to step back to the man currently pulling her strings. After a short trek she was coerced to slide stiffly into the seat across from him.

"Stay a bit," he urged her, a smug smile tugging at his lips. Claire could only glare back at him. "I _know_ you're not too busy for a break," he added, glancing around at the nearly empty restaurant.

"What do you want?" she asked softly, looking down at her lap as she sat twisting her hands anxiously.

"As I said," Sylar shrugged, "I thought it was high time for a visit. I wanted to catch up. It's been too long."

"Not really," Claire disagreed, and Sylar gazed at her darkly; she saw his fingers snap shut, and found her mouth currently worthless.

He was silent for a few minutes, glancing around the diner, out the window, sipping his coffee, and Claire sat before him helplessly, wishing she had the ability to make someone's head explode with one thought. Finally, he set the cup down and took a deep breath. "I had a dream about you," he offered her cryptically. Claire felt her blood run cold. "It was strange…Peter had died and we were standing on that rooftop—the one where Peter used to work, with the pigeons?"

Claire shut her eyes. She didn't want to hear anymore, but that didn't stop him from rambling on unhindered.

"I was trying to comfort you. You were mad that he wouldn't let us heal him," he smiled up at her sardonically. "It hadn't surprised _me_, but…" he trailed off and let his eyes wander over her. Claire found herself forced to meet his gaze. He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment before he shook his head and smiled.

Claire felt her heart rate increasing at a discomforting pace. She felt sweat forming on her forehead, back, armpits. It was getting a little difficult to breathe. So this was a nightmare after all, she concluded. Because there's no way that they would both dream that, with such precise detail, on the exact same night. It was utterly impossible.

"I held you," he continued, "and when you said my name…" he trailed off for a moment, his eyes boring into hers. "I'd never wanted you so badly," he finished softly. Claire shifted uncomfortably, glancing around them quickly to make sure no one could overhear this conversation. "And when I kissed you…"

_Don't say it. Don't say it. Don't say it._ She willed him mentally, desperately. _Please just don't…_

"You kissed me back."

Claire could hear her heartbeat in her ears now, thudding away in an abnormal, erratic tempo. He could hear it too, she knew, and she hated him even more for it. She wanted to slap that smirk right off his face. She took a deep breath in through her nose, trying to calm herself. When she spoke, she attempted to sound cool, dismissive, "That could _only_ ever happen in a dream, Sylar," she made sure to twist as much venom as she could into his name, spitting it out like rotten food.

His eyebrows creased slightly, and he appeared to be studying her harder. "Why is your heart beating so hard?" he asked her outright. She stared at him in stony silence. His lips twitched and tugged up at the corners, eventually becoming a triumphant smile. "You dreamt about me, too," he deduced quickly. "Was it the same one?"

"That's ridiculous," Claire denied, "No two people could have the same dream on the same night."

He leaned back casually, victory written all over his body. "You're a terrible liar," he informed her, not even trying to keep the laughter out of his voice. "Not only am I a human lie detector, but…I never told you _when_ I had this dream…"

"It was last night, alright?" Claire relented angrily, hoping that if she just played along he'd let her get on with her life. "Right? You and I shared this bizarre, twisted _nightmare_, so what?" she emphasized, as if she were explaining this to a five year old. "It doesn't mean anything," she seethed, attempting to sound strong and apathetic. And yet despite herself she could feel her hands trembling like leaves.

Sylar chuckled lowly, "Claire," he chided, frowning at her in a somewhat disappointed manner. "It means _everything_," he corrected.

She blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the discouraging tears that were stinging her eyes. She took a shaky breath and attempted to stand, slightly surprised to find that he had relinquished control of her body. "You're wrong," she said softly, turning away for what she hoped was the last time.

"I'm never wrong, Claire," he called after her in a low, gravelly tone.

And to her dismay, to her utter horror, she knew Sylar was right.

**

* * *

**

To Claire's relief Sylar finished his coffee and left shortly after, bestowing a much more generous tip than was necessary for a hot cup of coffee and a cold attitude.

The rest of her shift was blissfully uneventful until, to her complete consternation, she found Sylar waiting for her outside the back door when she left for the evening. With a confident little smirk, the serial killer fell right into step next to her as if he had every right to be there.

"Go away," she attempted feebly, knowing that it wouldn't happen until he was good and ready. And who knew when _that_ would be. "I'm going home, and my mom wouldn't take kindly to you showing up on her doorstep," she announced, trying her best to get rid of the giant-sized pest strolling behind her and gaining fast.

That actually had _some_ effect; he paused momentarily, as if surprised by something. It only took a few of his long strides to catch up to her, though she was practically speed walking. When he finally slithered up next to her, Sylar broke into a boisterous round of laughter.

"That was a lie, but I don't know in which way," Sylar finally admitted in between guffaws. "The part about your mom is probably true…I don't doubt that she remembers me," he drifted off for a moment, thinking back on that first day in Odessa.

"So that can only mean that "_home_"…isn't _Mama's _home. Move out, did you?" he asked her, leaning closer to her conspiratorially as his voice lowered. "Enjoying the freedom?"

She rolled her eyes, ignoring the twist in her stomach when his voice rumbled that way. "I've already lived away from home, remember? College?"

"For all of six months," he retorted quickly.

Claire cursed herself internally for deciding to "go green" and skip out on buying a car to save money. _Although_, she wagered, _even if I _did _have a car he probably would have just climbed right in._ _Sanctimonious bastard._

"Oh don't be mad at me for bringing it up," he pouted, mistaking her silence for anger at his comment.

"There are plenty of things I'm mad at you for, Sylar, but your choice of conversation is probably the lowest on the list."

"Is it really that hard for you to drop the past and look forward?" he asked her, sounding irritated by her for the first time since he'd shown up.

Claire stopped walking abruptly, nearly causing Sylar to plow into her. "I can't believe you just said that to me," she hissed, glaring at him through terrifically narrowed eyes. "_You_; who have been my very own boogey-man for the last, what, _six years_ of my life? You're a fucking _psychopath_ Sylar!" she cried, letting go of her control and releasing her anger, frustration, fear. "And a sociopath. And a killer. And a monster. Should I go on?"

She stared at him hotly, feet set firmly on the ground, hands on her hips, _seething_. Sylar returned her stare, his face a complete mask. For a full minute neither of them moved nor spoke. Claire took the opportunity to keep venting.

"_Every_ time I find myself in a shit-storm you're nearby, throwing dung bombs," she continued, though her voice had lost most of her harshness. "When are you going to get sick of turning my life upside down and leave me alone?"

"I'll never leave you alone," he swore solemnly.

"_Fuck_," Claire muttered, dropping her stance and running her hand through her hair in frustration. "_Why_?" she looked up at him, absolute desperation etched across her face.

"We're meant to be together," he stated, as if this should have been perfectly clear to her.

"You're _definitely_ wrong about that," she told him, crossing her arms as the wind picked up around her.

Sylar took a step closer to her, and her entire body tensed. She eyed him warily, ready to make a run for it if it looked as though he were going to continue with that. Then she remembered that if he wanted she wouldn't get very far.

"Claire," he sighed, he looked frustrated too, as if this reunion was somehow not going the way he had planned. "You can't run from me forever."

"You may be right about that," Claire admitted, shrugging as if it didn't matter to her one way or the other. "But I have forever to try, don't I?"

Sylar started towards her once more and Claire took a quick half step back. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before he changed his mind and gestured around them. "Why are we standing here?" he tried.

Claire looked away and shifted her weight from one foot to the next. Sylar glanced to the building they were standing in front of. Eyes lighting up, he pointed to it and asked, "Is this it?" he grinned at her reluctant nod. "What are we waiting for?"

Claire frowned. "What makes you think you're invited?"

He gave her that "come, now" look that sent an interesting jolt to her center. "_Claire_," he purred, as if he were offended that she wouldn't want him in her home.

She ground her teeth and spun around, stalking up to the door and jabbing the key into the lock. She let the door fall shut behind her but Sylar was right there to catch it and let himself in. He hovered close behind her as she walked to her apartment. She unlocked it and touched the handle, but before she opened the door she spun around to face him; they were too close. She looked tired.

"I _really_ don't want to do this tonight," she told him, pleading with her eyes for him to give up and go, if just for one more day. "Please," she requested softly, staring up at him helplessly. They really _were_ too close.

He finished closing the space between them, trapping her between his body and the door. Her breath hitched in her throat, and she had the sudden feeling that the floor was dropping and her head was expanding. Every inch of her body was overcome with a numb, tingling sensation.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to keep his gaze. If her eyes fluttered shut she was done for; Sylar would definitely go in for the kill if she gave him the chance. "Sylar," she breathed, and just saying his name sent another one of those jolts to her groin. _What the fuck is wrong with me? Is this his influence; new power? God, I can't move and it's not because of him, this is scary as shit! _Her thoughts planted a seed of panic inside her, and she found breathing becoming difficult once more.

"Claire," he uttered as he released a shaky breath, reaching up to touch her face; she almost shut her eyes at the contact, but forced herself to blink and keep them open and locked on him. His gaze was intense and lined with lust; Claire couldn't believe a man like him could send her body into such a state. _Stupid hormones_, she cursed inwardly.

Down the hall a door opened and shut. Sylar heard the tumbler clunk over as its owner locked up behind him. The footsteps came towards them, slowing as they neared. Claire and Sylar stood trapped in their own universe, pressed flush up against each other and ensnared by silence.

"C-Claire?" a hesitant voice called out. "You alright?" It probably did look bad; a short woman like herself towered over by a dark, dangerous looking guy. The proximity of their bodies and incredibly tense silence probably didn't help either.

Claire saw Sylar's eyes narrow infinitesimally at the interruption and feared for her kind neighbor's life. She did her best to make herself sound a healthy combination of drunk and happy. "I'm great, Alan, how're you?"

"Fine," he muttered back, averting his eyes and speeding up past them. Sylar waited until the front door shut behind him.

"Let me in, Claire," he breathed, and to her utter shock she found herself complying immediately. She told herself it was only because she couldn't stand to be that close to him for another second.

She turned on the light and set her keys on the counter nearest the door; she couldn't miss the fact that Sylar locked the door behind him. When he glanced to her he noticed the panic in her eyes.

Shrugging, he explained, "Safety. I don't know how things are here but in New York…" he pointed to the deadbolt, "that _always_ stays locked." He frowned when she didn't look placated. "Force of habit, Claire, come on," he dogged her, and she finally nodded and walked away after kicking her shoes in the general direction of the door.

She placed herself on the couch, folding her legs up under her and staring at the coffee table, where her pedicure items still sat from this morning; various files and buffers, clippers, Q-tips, the hot pink polish. She wished she had cleaned up before work; wasn't as if she hadn't had plenty of time.

The couch was a mistake, she realized instantly, because Sylar sat himself next to her, once again much closer than he needed to be; he let his arm rest straight across the back of the couch. Claire's stomach dropped once more and she brought in a shuddering breath as discretely as she could.

She was still staring ahead, but from her peripheral vision she watched him drag his finger slowly over the fabric. She chanced a glance to him and found his eyes shut. Recalling his ability, Claire grimaced as she tried to think back on any embarrassing events on this couch. One memory in particular floated to the surface of her getting hot and heavy with Alan from down the hall, but before things could get far she had stopped him and told him she didn't want to get into anything at the moment.

When she glanced to him again he was staring at her, a small smile on his lips.

"You're a little tease, aren't you?" he asked her darkly, scanning her over a few times. Claire could only blush and look away.

His hand snaked around and turned her face back to his. He was less than half a foot away from her. "It's sexy," Sylar told her, his grin spreading. "Nothing to be embarrassed about." He moved his hand from her cheek up and through her golden locks, twisting them around his fingers when he reached the end. He hadn't missed the extreme change in Claire's heart rate. She blinked a few times and tried to take a deep, steady breath.

"Why'd you leave school?" he asked her, his dark gaze piercing into hers.

She blinked again, her eyebrows furrowing at the question. "I didn't see it working," she told him. "I can't live a life where I hide who I am."

Sylar studied her, shaking his head. "That's not what you ran from."

"What?"

"Having to hide who you are wasn't the problem; it was _being_ who you are that you couldn't stand."

Claire stared at him. "…_What_?"

"Gretchen knew the real you, accepted it—hell, _embraced_ it—and that's why you left. You can't stand to let someone get that close to you because your whole life the people that have been close to you are the ones that have hurt you the most," he explained, as if she should already know this and the fact that he had to spell it out was boring him.

"You're the one that's hurt me the most," she corrected in a whisper, staring at the coffee table in front of her once more, forcing herself not to rehash those memories. She was so much stronger than that now.

Sylar shrugged, brushing that off. "I have eternity to make it up to you."

"Thanks to me," she spat instantly.

"You're going to hang onto that one, aren't you?" he questioned her, thick eyebrows furrowing low over his dark eyes. "You'll _still_ be bringing that up in five hundred years, won't you?"

"Every single day, if you insist on bothering me," she stated coolly, arching an eyebrow as she challenged him. _Just go, just go, just go. Just get the picture already and LEAVE!_

He sighed and shrugged. "Well…I guess we might as well get used to each other's foibles or we'll never make it past the first century."

Claire didn't like it when he said stuff like that; didn't appreciate him talking about her—_their_—curse as if he couldn't wait for forever to start. Didn't like being reminded that in no time at all to her everything she knows and loves will be gone. She thought back to her dream once more; Peter had been dying slowly and refused their power. Would he…really do that? It was actually the first time Claire had the thought, and her heart started pounding once more.

_No, no way. Peter would never force me to watch him die. Peter will be with me forever. He _has_ to, otherwise I'll live for eternity alone with_—Claire's eyes snapped up to Sylar's in horror. _No, no, no. I will end my life before I turn to him_.

Sylar smirked at her, "Finally catch on, did you? Surprised it took you this long. I knew the instant I felt the power course through me."

Claire set her jaw and looked away, not even sure how to respond to that. Up until now she honestly hadn't even believed that she would live forever. She supposed she _could_ have figured it out after attempt number 20 or 30, but to actually face the truth that she would always exist, let alone with a man like _Sylar_, was too great a task until now. Now she felt stronger, wiser. Now she felt ready.

"I'm going to go take a shower," she declared abruptly, standing and walking towards her bedroom. "I really, _really_ don't want you here when I get out," she called from down the hall.

**

* * *

**

The steaming water did nothing to relieve her tension. If nothing else, Claire felt even _more_ rigid than when she had been sitting next to that psychopath of a man. She had locked the bathroom door, even moved her laundry hamper to sit in front of it, but she knew that if Sylar wanted in no amount of barricading would stop him.

She jumped at every sound, though any other day she would have known it was just the neighbors through paper-thin walls. Claire had never washed her hair faster and when she realized that she needed to shave she made lightening-fast work of her legs. She noticed quite a few nicks letting blood run out of her body before healing quickly, but she barely even felt the sting from the cuts.

_It's getting harder and harder to feel _anything, Claire thought dismally as she watched the faint red swirls swivel down the drain. She brought the razor up to her face, inspecting the sharpness of the blades closely. Holding her other arm out straight, Claire brought the Lady Bic down her forearm in a violent slash. Red bubbled up and out of her skin for a second before the flesh stitched itself back together; she could feel the cells splitting apart as her skin opened up, could feel every nerve ending that she'd sliced through, but she still only felt the dullest of prickling.

The crash of something falling in the apartment above nearly made Claire slip and fall, and she quickly rinsed off and exited. She found herself staring at the door knob the entire time it took to dry off, just waiting for it to start turning. When she had slipped into her yoga pants and tank top, hair wrapped up in a way that only women can attain, she opened the door slowly, popping only her head out and listening for something, anything.

She heard her refrigerator open and shut and the kitchen sink turn on. Pouting, and looking not unlike a five year old, she stomped toward the kitchen. "Didn't I say I wanted you…gone?" her angry question lost steam as she stepped into the kitchen and looked around. A pot of boiling water sat on the stove, next to a smaller pan of red sauce. Sylar was standing at the sink with his back to her, washing lettuce.

He ignored her inquiry. "That was fast. I thought girls were supposed to be notorious for taking exceedingly long showers?" he shrugged to himself as he pulled the lettuce apart underneath the cold water and deposited it into a large salad bowl; the fancy glass one that Sandra had given her when she moved into her own apartment. The one they usually used for large dinners like Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter. When her mother had given it to her she had inwardly thought that it would never be put to use. "Is the water boiling?" he asked her as he continued on, as if cooking her supper were a routine thing.

"Yeah," she answered as she peered into the bubbling pot. She reached for the box of spaghetti next to the burner, but it moved before she got to it. It floated up a foot above the counter and opened, pouring itself into the large pot. "That's creepy," she informed him.

"I don't have eight arms, Claire," he answered disparagingly. "I _have_ to do it mentally."

"Or you could do one thing at a time like a normal person," she suggested. Sylar turned then, shutting off the water without even touching the tap.

"You say _normal _like it's a good thing," Sylar picked up a wooden spoon and stirred the sauce a few times before entering her fridge once more. "The world is full of people trying to be something more than normal. Those of us lucky enough to be born above the rest should embrace it, not let it go to waste."

Sylar pulled out her tomatoes and shredded carrots, adding them to the lettuce and mixing them up. "Claire," he started, and he sounded like he was winding up for a long-winded sermon. "There are a billion and one people out there that want to be _just like you_, and will never have the chance. Every other person on this earth, save myself, of course, will have a maximum lifespan of, what, eighty years? Ninety? But you…you can do it all. See the whole world, learn all the languages, experience everything you want because you have unlimited time. You'll never grow old, feeble and sickly. You'll never be limited by your body, just your mind," Sylar paused then, raising an eyebrow at her, "And it already is, by the way; limiting you, I mean. You need to get over these mental blocks and embrace what you have. Doesn't it make you feel special at all?"

He looked at her as if he seriously didn't understand why she didn't enjoy what she had.

"No," she retorted quickly. "It makes me feel like a freak."

"Ascending above the rest of society doesn't make you a freak," he said softly, pausing in everything he was doing and staring straight at her. "It makes you a god."

She snorted, walking around him and opening her pantry to pull out a box of croutons. "Don't start _that_ crap, please. I'm not a god and _you_—" she looked at him pointedly, eyes narrowing. "You're closer to a devil than a god," she slammed the box down onto the counter next to the salad bowl and turned to pick up the boiling pot of water; one nice thing about the regenerating/no pain situation was that she never had to worry about pot holders. "_Much_ closer," she added as she drained the noodles into the strainer that sat in the sink. Clouds of steam billowed up from the sink and she dumped out the boiling water.

Claire set the empty pot back on the stove, reaching passed Sylar, who stood before the stove stirring the tomato sauce slowly, eyebrows furrowed. As her now empty hand brushed passed him once more, Sylar reached out with his free hand and snatched her wrist quickly, eyes never leaving the gurgling red paste.

"Sylar!" Claire huffed in surprised annoyance, attempting to tug free of his grasp. Sylar simply moved the spoon around in a few more circles before resting it on the edges of the pan and turning to her.

He took her hand into both of his; making her stumble closer to him so her arm wasn't stretched out uncomfortably. Sylar's gaze was locked on their hands, turning hers over in his and caressing the soft skin with his thumbs. He trailed a long finger across her lifeline, and Claire felt a shudder run up her spine. She looked up to his face, realizing suddenly with a flush of embarrassment that their bodies were nearly touching.

"Why are you shaking, Claire?" he all but whispered.

_He's doing it on purpose_, Claire kept thinking. _He's making his voice all husky like that on purpose; he's messing with me. He—_"What?" she feigned ignorance, and forced herself to keep looking on as he tilted his head up to look into her eyes.

She thought she heard the faintest of growls come from his throat. He pulled her closer still and leaned down to her ear. "You're shaking. I'm curious as to why," he pulled back, assessing her with that dark stare. "I _know_ it's not because you're scared of me. You're long passed that. So…" he gave Claire's hand a slight squeeze before releasing it; when Claire pulled her hands behind her back she could feel that they were, in fact, trembling quite violently. She looked to the sink, the stove, the floor.

"So…?" Claire repeated sassily, waiting for Sylar to either elaborate or shut up. When she brought her eyes up again she found her entire body locked as her gaze met his; she knew it wasn't because of anything _he_ was doing.

Sylar's lips twitched at the corners before pulling into a small, smug smirk. "I can feel that you want me, just as much as I want you. I can feel what you desire."

Claire cursed internally. How could she have forgotten about that one, when six months ago he used it while forcing his lips to hers? She made a mental note to keep every inch of skin covered at all times from then on.

"You don't know what you're talking about," she informed him, turning back to the sink and shaking the strainer of excess water. "That's completely insane."

"You're lying, Claire," he told her confidently. "Even if _you _don't know it yet, I do. I always know…" he trailed off and she heard him snap the heat off of the stovetop under the saucepan.

Claire tried her best to keep her voice light, uninterested. "And how would you know something like that?" she questioned, turning around and depositing the noodles back into the pan, careful to avoid glancing towards him.

Sylar chuckled. "I _told _you. I'm a human lie detector."

It hit her then that he was talking about a power that she hadn't known about. "Ah," she nodded. "I hadn't taken that quite so literally." She pulled two plates out of the cupboard and sat them next to the stove. Claire found herself wondering exactly _what_ had happened that brought her to this moment, sharing dinner with _Sylar_.

Sylar unzipped the black hoodie he had been wearing and tossed it over the back of a chair sitting at the island. The black t-shirt he was wearing underneath hugged his hard chest tightly; Claire found her eyes examining his sculpted biceps when he wasn't looking. When he shifted her eyes darted down to his right forearm, where her face sat, staring back at her grimly; a chill flew up her spine.

She dished up her own pasta and salad and took a seat slowly, staring down at the counter as she slowly twisted the spaghetti around her fork. Sylar sat on the other side of the island, staring across at her as he ate. "So what do you want, anyways? I mean you said you wanted to visit but I can't help but feel like there's something more to it."

Claire didn't look at him as she talked, but stared at her plate, stabbing a bite of salad with her fork.

"I want to sleep with you," Sylar responded, and Claire dropped her fork to her plate with a loud _clang_, choking on her bite of lettuce. When she looked up at him in horror, Sylar laughed. "Not like _that_. Well," he paused, smirking, "Yes, like that. But not now. Right now I just want to be by you."

"Ironically, I want the exact opposite," she told him, finishing up her last few bites and retreating to the sink so she didn't have to face him. "You should just go back to New York," Claire suggested, rinsing the plate of sauce before ditching it in the bottom of the sink. She went to a cupboard and pulled out a few containers for leftovers.

As she carefully poured the remaining sauce in the smaller dish, she chanced a glance up to him. Sylar was studying her carefully. "One night," he requested. "Just let me have one."

Claire frowned, her thin brows furrowing so deeply they nearly touched. She snapped the lid on the sauce and started on packing up the leftover pasta. _Surely he's insane. Off his fucking rocker if he thinks I'm going to let him stick around, share my _bed_? Yeah, insane. That's it. _ She wished she could just make him disappear. "One night," she started, voice wavering slightly. "And then you go back to New York."

"Straight back to New York," he repeated, his lips tugging into a small smile.

"For _good_," Claire specified. "I don't want you back in Costa Verde."

Sylar brought his plate over to the sink and started washing the dishes. "One night and I'm gone until you call me back."

Claire tried not to snort at the absurdity of that statement and failed. "So yeah, for good," she emphasized, grabbing a dish towel and starting to dry their now-clean plates.

Sylar retrieved the pots from the stove and started on those. Claire stood next to him with the towel, waiting. Part of her reasoned that she was closer to him than she needed to be. She dropped the cloth and unfolded her damp hair from the towel while she waited, placing it back in the bathroom over the shower rod to dry. She combed her fingers through it until it was mostly straight and untangled, then returned to the kitchen.

"Fully clothed," she demanded on her way back to him. "And I swear to _God_, Sylar, if you so much as—"

He raised his hands innocently, "I'll be a perfect gentleman," he interrupted her. "I promise."

She sighed, dropping her head. "I can't believe I'm even considering this," she muttered to herself. "Okay," she agreed, looking up at him. "One night."

**

* * *

**

When the dishes had been finished Claire moved to the living room couch and turned on the television. She ignored Sylar pointedly when he sat down next to her, focusing instead on flipping through the channels in a bored fashion. She finally settled on some sitcom she'd never heard of just to have something to stare at.

They sat in silence, to Claire's great relief, for an appropriate amount of time before Claire decided to give up and call it a night, since she had to be up the next morning for work. She hated closing one night and opening the next day, but Jillie's had been short on waitresses as of late, and Claire was thankful for the extra income anyways.

"Let's go then," she stated quietly as she flipped off the tube and stood up. Sylar followed her to her bedroom, and Claire found butterflies appearing in her stomach once again.

She only had a twin bed, and she knew it would be impossible for them to share it without touching _somewhere_. She climbed under the covers wordlessly and double checked that her alarm was set for the correct time. Sylar slid under next to her, pulling her back against his chest and resting an arm over her stomach. Claire tensed instantly at the contact, and Sylar gave a low chuckle.

"_Relax_, Claire," he purred in her ear, and she found herself obliging instantly. It _had_ been quite awhile since she'd had a bedmate, and under the cover of darkness she could ease back into his body and pretend that she wasn't wrapped up in the arms of a psycho.

She usually drifted right to sleep when she went to bed, but tonight Claire lay awake for awhile, staring into the darkness, pretending to hate the way his fingers were threading through her hair.

Sleep finally took her, but not before she felt Sylar's face nuzzling into her back affectionately. In her drowsy, half-asleep state she could no longer pretend that she detested the feeling.

**

* * *

**

Claire scrutinized her reflection in the floor length mirror. Nervous hands fluttered up to check her hair and then down to smooth out her silky white gown. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest, quickly spreading adrenaline throughout her body; her stomach was doing the usual butterfly dance that happened when she thought about him.

"It's time, darling," the sweet, old minister's wife informed her as her reflection appeared behind Claire. "You look wonderful."

Claire smiled graciously at the woman and allowed her to escort her to the large, oak double doors. The pattern carved into them was so ornately beautiful that Claire was almost sad when the opened away from her—until she focused her view into the sanctuary.

He was standing there, at the head of the church, dressed in an all-black suit and looking entirely like the devil. Claire felt her breath hitch in her chest, and was amazed that her feet would move at all, let alone in the delicate line that she walked down the aisle, her eyes fixed on Sylar's dark ones the whole way down.

When she arrived at the front, he gave her a little smirk and bowed his head toward her. "Should you be wearing white?" he teased.

"I'm a virgin," Claire claimed softly. When Sylar's only response was a raised eyebrow she smirked and blushed. "Well, technically."

The minister started his speech then, and Claire was so captivated by the man next to her that the whole thing went by in a blur. When he arrived at the bit about any objections being made, Claire gulped.

This was it. Would someone say something? Part of her knew that marrying Sylar was crazy, but he made her so happy… Things just felt _right_ when she was around him. She took a breath and chanced a glance over her shoulder.

Dozens of empty pews sat staring back at her. Claire turned back to her future husband quickly in alarm, panic seizing her heart. "Where is everyone?" she questioned, eyes wide.

Sylar gave her a sad smile, brushing some bangs out of her eyes gently. "Everyone is gone, Claire-bear. It's just you and me."

**

* * *

**

For the second night in a row, Claire startled awake, half-sitting up in bed. When a body moved next to hers she nearly screamed, until she remembered who it was. Then she wanted to scream even louder.

"You okay?" Sylar's voice was groggy with sleep; she'd obviously woken him in her panic.

Claire sat in the darkness for a full minute, focusing on taking deep breaths. _It was only a dream. Just like last night. Dreams don't mean anything; they're random and weird. Hell I once dreamt about setting fire to the school and running away to Seattle. Breathe… just breathe._ Finally, she sank back down to her pillows. Sylar reclaimed his possession of her midsection, pulling her into him snuggly. "Just a dream," she stated softly.

She flinched when he asked what it was about; she had known he was going to. "It's not important," she told him, shaking her head and trying to regain that comfortable sleepy feeling. It wouldn't come back.

**

* * *

**

Claire woke before her alarm to an empty bed. She turned over and curled up into his side, still warm with his heat. When she buried her face in the pillow her nose was assaulted by his Old Spice aftershave. She took two deep breaths through her nose and fell back asleep.

The second time she woke it was to her clock radio going off. She stretched and allowed the music to play for a little bit; that song "I Got You Babe". Wondering where her absentee bedmate was, she finally roused herself from the warm, inviting blankets and stumbled sleepily into the hall.

Claire had almost expected Sylar to be in the bathroom, but the door was open, and it looked unused. She made her way to the kitchen and living room. Nowhere. She glanced to the door; it was locked but his shoes were gone. _Easy enough for him to lock it from the other side, I suppose. _Claire was surprised. Though she was thrilled that he'd kept up his end of the bargain, she couldn't believe he wouldn't take the opportunity to say goodbye to her.

She was about to turn back to the bathroom to start getting ready when the refrigerator caught her attention. There, on the dry-erase board that stuck to her fridge, was a message scrawled in blue ink. Claire stepped over to it slowly.

_Claire,_

_Last night was perfect. Thank you. There's breakfast for you warming in the oven._

Under that was a New York street address, followed by ten digits. His phone number. The whole message was signed with a simple, elegant 'S'.

She went to inspect the oven and found a plate of eggs, bacon and toast waiting for her. As she poured her orange juice she tried not to consider how Sylar had known that she liked her eggs over-easy.

She sat down on the far side of the island, staring at the message board as she ate. Her eyes scanned the eraser on top of the fridge twice before darting back to Sylar's note. When she finished with her breakfast (delicious and appreciated, though Claire would never admit it) she dumped her dishes in the sink and stepped back over to the refrigerator.

Claire stared at the message for a full minute before her hand darted up to snatch the eraser. She pushed it to the dry-erase board and held it there. Pretending that her hand wasn't shaking, Claire started to move the eraser from the top-left corner downwards, halting almost immediately. She tossed it back on the top of the fridge and stared at the message once more.

Her name was gone, along with the top half of the first few words. To her (relief?) the address and number remained intact. Claire spun away from the kitchen and marched to the bathroom, not even bothering to think about why she would want to keep such information.

She had done her daily bathroom duties and changed into her uniform when a knock sounded at the door. Claire's heart stopped. She warily made her way down the hall, her breathing shallow and shaky. When she was a few feet from the door, the knocking sounded again. Claire nearly jumped a foot in the air.

"Claire-bear? It's dad. You home?"

She gave a breath of relief and started towards the door. "Yeah—" she started, then froze. Her eyes darted back to the contact info Sylar had left scrawled right on her fridge. "One second!" she amended, rushing into the kitchen area, her socks, luckily, padding her footsteps.

Claire went through three drawers before she found scratch paper and a pen. She copied down the info furiously and then shoved it all back into a drawer. After wiping the board clean she rushed over to the door.

"Hey!" she greeted breathlessly as she swung open the door. "What are you doing here?" Of all the people to visit her, she hadn't suspected that Noah Bennet would be one of them.

Her adoptive father smiled brightly, pulling his ageless daughter into a warm hug. "I was in the area; your mother gave me your address. I thought I'd come by and check the place out. How are you doing?"

"I'm good!" Claire lied. _ I had a sleepover with a deranged "ex"-murderer last night, doesn't that sound fun, Daddy? _"I'm actually just on my way out to work."

"Oh," he looked disappointed; Claire saw his expression fall a little.

"I'm only a few blocks away, actually," she explained, doing her best to pull her mouth into a smile. "I have time for a quick tour."

She stepped aside for him, leading him through the small apartment. "The shower has amazing water pressure," she offered as they glimpsed into her bathroom, looking like a tornado of toiletries had blown through. Noah nodded.

When they stepped into her room, Sylar's scent hit Claire immediately. She glanced at her father from the corner of her eyes, worried that he might detect it as well. The last thing she wanted to do was explain why her room smelled like a man.

"This is a nice place. The rent okay?" he asked as they walked back to the door.

"A little expensive," Claire admitted, "but it's in a nice area and it's close to work. I don't even need a car. I can walk or bus pretty much anywhere I want to go. Walk with me to work?" she requested as she ushered him out the door, grabbing her keys on the way and locking up.

"Certainly," he smiled, and when Claire looked up into his eyes she saw something familiar there; the same thing she used to see when he knew something she didn't that she probably should.

"So what brings you to Costa Verde?" she scrabbled for conversation as soon as they hit the sidewalk. "Work?"

"Kind of," he admitting, nodding. "I've been having an associate keep tabs on someone recently and they were seen in the area yesterday afternoon."

"Oh," Claire smiled, nodding. "Convenient then," she laughed, hoping that it didn't sound as fake and nervous as it felt on her lips. _Sylar, then_, she confirmed, nodding mentally. _He _does_ certainly stand out_. _Moron. Did he know he was being watched, or did he just not care?_ Panic flickered in Claire's stomach and immediately rippled throughout her body. _Did whoever was watching see Sylar contact me? Is that why dad is here? Does he know Sylar was with me last night? _She tried to slow her steps slightly, fighting the strong, strong urge to flee from her father.

She thought about coming clean and just spilling her guts to him right there on the sidewalk, but shooed away that absurd idea just as quickly as it had popped into her brain. Luckily she didn't have to do anything, as they soon arrived outside her work. Claire thanked whatever power was watching over her.

"Well I best get in," she said, taking a few steps backwards towards the door. "It was great to see you, dad. Will you be in town long?"

"Possibly another day or two," he nodded, his keen eyes following her like a hawk. "We should do lunch, or dinner or something," he suggested.

"Definitely!" Claire agreed, probably too quickly and animatedly, "Yeah! I'll call you when I get done here."

"It's a date," her father replied, though the response was probably only heard by the door as Claire rushed inside.

**

* * *

**

**Okay, I'm breaking here because I've officially hit 22 pages, and I think that's quite enough for the first installment. The last half is unbetaed… I've sent it out but unfortunately I'm quite impatient and must have feedback from readers.**

**So! A great, great, GREAT thank you to all that have given me feedback/advice with this chapter (there are numerous of you, you know who you are =D ) And a great big thank you to all of you readers for checking this out!**

**(And thank you in advance for all of the marvelous, detailed, long reviews. A writer enjoys knowing their work is appreciated! Also: motivation to keep going! So review! Do it now!)**


	2. Second Dates

**Welll… here we go again!**

**Oh, my! I've also just realized that I never put up a warning at the beginning of the first chapter! My bad if anyone was offended!**

****Rated M for VERY strong language and adult themes a little later on****

**Chapter 2: Second Dates**

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

During the span of her six hour shift, Claire broke five dishes. She dropped one glass of iced tea, one order of hot wings, and two sides of coleslaw on various customers' laps. Twice she changed directions too suddenly due to her slow-processing mind, and collided with her co-worker for the afternoon, Jenna, who just happened to be the bitchiest waitress at Jillie's, as well as already holding a grudge for Claire (though she'd no idea _why_).

Claire didn't officially classify it as "worst day ever" until she slipped on the freshly mopped tiles of the ladies room and fell to the floor ten minutes before her shift was up.

She walked home slowly, thoroughly defeated by the ass-kicking the day had given her. On the short walk she tried to figure out why her mind didn't even _attempt_ to run functionally.

Every other thought the whole beautiful afternoon was "dad, Sylar, dad, Sylar, dad, Sylar", making it utterly impossible for her to concentrate on _anything_ she attempted. She'd even fouled up taking a piss for Heaven's sake!

And to top it off, they were _busy_; like _way_ busier than the diner had been in the last few weeks. There wasn't a single moment of peace for the poor waitress, as Ben was constantly trying to get into her head to figure out her problem, and _flirting_, and Jenna was constantly shooting her nasty looks, as if Claire were some kind of leper. To make things _worse_, there were the furious customers that were constantly getting the wrong order, or having food spilled on them as Claire was attempting to wait tables and having a complete breakdown simultaneously…and the lousy tips resulting from her botched attempts.

She was staring at the sidewalk, then the steps as she robotically unlocked and opened the front door. Claire was paying so little attention, in fact, that as she swung open the door and lurched inside she plowed right into a wall of flesh. She looked up, startled, "I'm so sorry!" she apologized, her shame increasing when she was face to face with Alan McCowl, her handsy neighbor two doors down.

He smiled at Claire and went back to looking through his mail. "Hey, Claire."

"Hi, Alan," she replied a little timidly, fumbling for her mail key so she had a reason to be out there. "How's it going?" she gave him a little smile as she pulled out her stack of mail.

"Great, actually. And yourself?" he responded, his smile widening at her attention.

Claire's eyebrows raised and dropped in a shrug-like manner as she relocked her box and glanced down at the first piece of mail; electric bill. "Just got off the shift from Hell, actually."

"Ahh," he winced, as if he had _any_ idea as to the depth of her pain. "That's too bad. Makes sense I suppose. Does…that mean you won't be going out to the golf course tonight?"

The invincible girl looked up from her cell phone bill in confusion. "Huh?"

"For the fireworks?" he prompted. "Because," he kept on quickly, "if you _are_ going and you need an escort I would love to accompany you."

Claire blushed and looked back to her mail, trying not to show that her mind was turning over slowly, trying to figure out what he was talking about. _Golf course? Fireworks? What—_and it struck her like lightening—_Fourth of July! No _wonder_ we were so busy! All of those customers probably came from watching the parade. _Now that she was getting somewhere, Claire forced her mind away from the unmarked envelope that sat in her hands and back to her neighbor.

"No! I-I mean yes!" she fumbled. "I'd love to go see the fireworks with you."

Alan beamed down at her, his blue eyes brightening. "Great! I'll come by your door around eight?"

"Sounds good," Claire smiled back at him before looking down to the plain, white envelope in her hands. Filled with curiosity Claire turned it over and ripped it open, pulling out a single sheet of paper. Claire unfolded it slowly; a familiar loopy scrawl greeted her in black ink.

_Sorry if this is too late; they're watching him, be careful. Give him a chance, Claire._

_Peter_

Several emotions battled to overtake Claire; panic, anger, curiosity, shock. _Peter knew, but Sylar didn't? And wait—Peter knew Sylar was coming to me! "Give him a chance"? _Claire unwittingly gave a snort of derision to that line. She didn't care _what _kind of adventure Sylar and Peter had shared inside the murderer's mind, her opinion on him wasn't changing anytime soon. _Frankly I'm appalled that Peter could forgive him so easily after killing his _brother_, my _father_! Does Peter think so little of me that I could just forget what he's done and let him into my life? Absolutely not!_

"Outrageous bill?" Alan questioned jokingly, though both of them knew it didn't look anything like one, in an attempt to return her focus to him.

"Hmm?" Claire startled again as she looked up and realized she still had company. "Oh, sorry. No. I uh, I told my dad we could do dinner, since he's only in town for a few days. We'll have to make it an early one so I should probably go," she weaved around him more gracefully than she could have all day long and opened the inner door to the building. "I'll see you at eight!" Claire called back as she hurried through, leaving a slightly confused date staring after her.

She slammed the door to her apartment behind her, flicking the deadbolt shut angrily. Stomping into the kitchen, she ripped open the drawer by the fridge and yanked the scrap of paper out, slamming it down to the counter. Claire fumbled with her phone in her pocket and when she finally whipped it out it slipped from her hand and clattered to the tile floor.

"_Shit_!" she cursed, retrieving the cell and inspecting it carefully. It didn't look as if any harm had come to it. She turned back to the counter and stared at the phone number, then looked down at her phone. Sighing, she punched the numbers in, locating each one slowly in the unfamiliar pattern.

As the phone began to ring, Claire began her pacing. She started loops around the island. The ringing ceased and a deep voice appeared on the other line.

"Hello, Claire," Sylar greeted cheerfully. "I must admit, I didn't think you'd be calling for another decade or so. Actually," he amended, "I was quite sure you were going to erase my note the second you saw it. Miss me already?" his voice did that lowering thing that made Claire's stomach twist.

Claire gave a frustrated sigh, shaking her head, "Sylar, either shut up or get within punching range."

"Is that an invitation to come back to Costa Verde, then?" the deep voice chuckled on the other side of the connection.

"Yeah right," Claire scoffed dismissively, jumping straight into her reason for calling. "So, did you _know _that you were being watched?" she didn't even give him the chance to respond before she kept on; her paces turned more to stomps as she made a few passes around the living room. "Yeah, my dad popped by this morning, in town on _business_. Seems someone that they're keeping tabs on happened to be seen in the area yesterday afternoon. Surprised? _I _was, though I'm not even sure why. Were—"

"Claire," Sylar interrupted firmly; she could almost hear him rolling his eyes. "_Relax_. Okay? Take a breath. Peter called me this morning; he said he left a note in your mailbox but you were…distracted last night."

"I wonder why," Claire interjected sassily. She folded herself down on the couch and took to fussing over her nails.

"But don't worry. Peter was on the defensive for us. He said the agent only glimpsed me leaving the diner, and he kept her from seeing anything after that. Not _quite_ sure what that means, but knowing Pete he's probably picked up some fun, new power. _Empaths_."

"_You're_ an empath," Claire pointed out. "Kind of, I guess. Anyways, watch your shit from now on because I am _not _getting busted associating with you. _Especially_ not by my father. I have to go," she told him.

"Why?" he shot back snidely. "Got a date?"

"Yes," Claire responded, rolling her eyes. "I do."

"With who?" Sylar questioned instantly, something akin to alarm in his voice. Claire smirked, knowing full well that he had expected to catch her _lying _about such a thing.

"Alan," she told him smugly, though she wasn't quite sure _why_.

Sylar snorted, obviously not seeing the boy as a threat. "Gonna bring him back to yours again for a nice make-out session before you kick him out?" he asked her, probably thinking back to the memory hit he got from Claire's sofa.

"Maybe," she responded mockingly, sounding not unlike a teenager again. "Got a problem with that?"

"Not at all," Sylar shot back breezily. "After all, _I _got to share your bed."

Claire snapped her phone shut.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

When she had calmed herself down enough that she didn't feel like screaming every time she opened her mouth, Claire phoned her father, as promised. They agreed to meet at the Chinese restaurant near Claire's apartment at six, giving her a full hour to shower and ready herself. She decided on a simple outfit of jean shorts and a black beater, not wanting to be overly dressed for either occasion this evening.

Claire arrived five minutes early and took a seat in a booth in a secluded corner; she didn't know what they would be talking about, but she was pretty sure that no one else needed to hear it. She was staring at the menu without really seeing it and sipping on a Diet Coke when Noah Bennet slid into the seat across from hers. She did her best to smile at her father.

"Hey, dad. How's it going?" she asked him lightly.

He gave her a serious look, but didn't say anything until he had placed his drink order and the ancient Chinese waitress shuffled away.

"I'm just going to come right out and say it, Claire, because I'm sick of beating around the bush. The target I've been having my associate watch is Sylar. Though I'm sure you already know that, because he was seen leaving Jillie's yesterday afternoon during your shift."

Claire's lungs stopped working as she stared at her father, trying to turn her look of abject horror into a casual unconcerned smirk. "So? He stopped by yesterday, but I told him to go back to New York," she pretended to startle, looking up quickly. "Why, where is he now?"

Noah frowned and tilted his head, the fluorescent lights reflecting off of his glasses, obscuring his calculating eyes from view. "New York," he informed her and then sighed, dropping his head slightly. "I wish you would call me with information like that, Claire-bear."

_Everyone is gone, Claire-bear. It's just you and me. _Claire thought about her dream instantly when her father used his little nickname for her; she couldn't stop the slight shudder that ran through her body. Claire shifted, pretending that that last movement wasn't unintentional. "He didn't bother me," she lied, "he just talked to me and left. I passed it off as inconsequential."

"Nothing is inconsequential with Sylar," Noah argued. "I don't want him near you, Claire. I don't trust him."

"Peter trusts him," Claire mumbled as she looked down at the menu, mostly just thinking out loud. As soon as the words had been spoken Claire wanted to shove them back in her mouth.

Her father glared down at her, jaw setting in the regular Bennet fashion. "I don't _care_ what Peter thinks," Noah growled. "Peter can also copy all of Sylar's powers; _he _can defend himself."

"What makes you think I can't?" she asked him softly, finally bringing her gaze up to his. She was growing angry now. "I handled him just fine yesterday," Claire pointed out, crossing her arms and leaning back in her seat.

"Yes," Noah agreed, "and in a public place. What happens when he gets you alone, Claire?"

_He'll make me dinner and try to cuddle with me,_ Claire thought instantly; she actually had to fight the giggle that wanted to bubble up and out of her throat.

Her overprotective father took her silence as her answer of: I don't know. "How well can you handle him then?" he continued, and Claire tried not to roll her eyes.

"Please," she snorted, finding her grip on her composed, indifferent attitude slipping further and further away. "I can't get hurt. I can't even _feel_ pain," Claire reminded her father.

"There are other ways of hurting someone, Claire," he argued softly, leaning forward and staring her down. "Emotionally, mentally—"

"Stop!" Claire barked as she bolted up from her seat. She tried not to notice as nearby customers eyed her, intrigued by her outburst. She lowered her voice for her next words, hissing them to her father as she grabbed her purse. "I'm sick of you telling me how to handle myself; I'm doing _fine_ on my own. Jesus, _you're_ harder to shake out of my life than _he_ is," she accused her father. She turned to go, but spun right back around. "And for the record, I _know_ what you were talking about, and Sylar isn't even capable of that," she spat, whipping around once more and marching out of the restaurant.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

The next person she needed to yell at was her interfering uncle. The second her door was shut behind her she had the phone to her ear, ringing. Claire gave an angry sigh as she reached his voicemail, asking her to leave a message.

After the beep, Claire went right into her rant, "_Hey_, Peter!" she greeted in a fake, cheerful tone, "Just wanted to call and say _thanks_ for the heads up about Sylar stopping by for a visit! As always I appreciate your impeding on my life, and your attempts to push me closer to that maniac. Speaking of, I've got a few things to say about _that_ whole situation, probably words best spoken in _private_. Don't bother calling me back, I'm busy tonight. I'll catch you later."

Since dinner with her father didn't take _quite_ as long as she had originally planned, Claire had plenty of time to relax before her date. She zoned in front of the television for an hour and a half before a knock sounded at her door. Claire hurried to the door and opened it, revealing her date for the evening.

He smiled sheepishly at her and extended his arm out to her, pushing a small bouquet of flowers at her face. "Hey, Claire," he greeted, "you look wonderful."

"Thanks," Claire smiled and accepted the assortment from him, sticking her nose to one of the roses and sniffing, "these are beautiful," she complemented, turning to the kitchen and laying them on the counter gingerly. "Let me just find a vase quickly and then we can go."

She began searching through her cupboards, positive that she had at least _one _lying about somewhere; Sandra made quite sure that her apartment was well-stocked with all the odds and ends that Claire never would have thought of…like a can opener. Or cheese grater.

She finally located the object in question, and was busy filling it with water when Alan's voice sounded near her.

"Are you going to New York?" he asked her, and Claire whipped around to find him eyeing that small piece of paper with Sylar's contact information that she'd left on the counter earlier that day.

"No!" she denied, probably too vehemently she figured, because of the look that Alan gave her. She set the vase down and went to him, removing the paper from the counter and placing it back in the drawer. "No, there's nothing for me in New York," she denied softly, turning back to placing the flowers in water. "Well, _some_ family," she admitted after a moment, "but I'm not really on speaking terms with them right now."

"Oh," was all Alan responded to that. He waited until they were out on the sidewalk before he asked the question he was _really _curious about. Claire knew it was only a matter of time, and winced when he brought it up. "So…you had company last night?"

"Uh…yeah," she responded, studying the buildings they were passing with more interest than they deserved. "Yeah. He was an…old acquaintance…I guess."

She could feel her neighbor's eyes boring into her. "You don't sound too sure about that," Alan accused her.

"There's nothing going _on_ between us, if _that's_ what you're getting at," she snapped. Claire gave a sigh, regretting taking her aggression out on her innocent date, who was probably considering her more and more insane with each passing minute. "I'm sorry, you didn't deserve that," she apologized, stopping and turning towards him. A slight breeze blew through his blonde, shaggy hair. His blue eyes glinted with concern. "I'm afraid you've caught me on a pretty bad week," Claire admitted.

"Don't worry about it," he smiled down at her, drawing slightly closer. He pushed some bangs out of her eyes that the wind had placed there; Claire hated that the action reminded her of Sylar. "Try to forget it all, just for tonight. I guarantee it will be easy once the show starts."

He laced his fingers into hers and tugged her back into motion. "I had to park down the block," he explained. When they stopped in front of a shiny, cherry red Camero, Claire gawked openly. Alan chuckled, "Twenty-first birthday present from my folks," he informed her as he opened the door for her in a chivalrous manner.

Claire thanked him and slid into the car, shifting uncomfortably on the warm, leather seats, her bare skin sticking to it everywhere it touched. She tried to plaster a smile to her face before Alan climbed behind the wheel, however fake it may be.

It wasn't that Claire wasn't fond of Alan; he was a very sweet, funny, responsible guy, and it was obvious that he was very taken with his beautiful, young neighbor. The problem was that everything felt forced with him. Even his kissing, though highly proficient, didn't really do much for Claire. She was hoping that the fireworks would inspire some magical romantic feelings.

They didn't force conversation on the ride to their destination, settling for letting the radio fill the silence. The usually short drive to the golf course took about three times longer with all of the traffic; cars, vans and trucks full of families eager to see the fireworks were all heading to the best spot to view them.

They were lucky enough to get a parking spot right outside the entrance, so after Alan rustled up a blanket from the trunk, they made their way to the greenway by the first hole, where seemingly every other person in Costa Verde were setting up chairs, blankets, picnics.

Alan shook the blanket open and laid it out as flat as he could on the short green grass. They settled down on it, Claire using one arm as a pillar to hold up her body as she leaned back, her eyes fixed on the quickly darkening sky.

Luckily, the fireworks started up soon after they arrived, making conversation impossible over the booming from the pyrotechnics and the squealing of excited children. Alan's hand quickly found hers once more in the dark.

Sparks of red, blue, green, yellow and purple filled the sky in various orders and shapes. They had a nice variety this year, but Claire always enjoyed the classic starburst firecrackers. A single white flash filled the sky, and a few seconds later the tremendous _crack_ accompanied it, startling Claire into accidentally jumping closer to her date.

He brought his hand up to her face and turned it towards him, dipping his closer._ This is it_, Claire thought. Alan leaned over and pushed his lips to hers; Claire willed herself to feel something—_anything_. Where was the fluttering? Why wasn't her stomach twisted like a balloon animal? As the kiss deepened, and his tongue slid in her mouth to meet hers, Claire wondered why she didn't feel that electric charge barreling through her nervous system.

Sensing her lack of enthusiasm, Alan pulled away. "Are you okay?"

Claire blushed in the darkness as realization hit her. "I'm sorry," she shook her head. "I just don't know if I'm in the position for a relationship right now. It's not that you aren't great!" Claire insisted, "You are! You're polite and sensitive and you come from a great background!" she frowned when he stared at her quizzically, one eyebrow raised, "Wonderful, hard working parents, stable life, that kind of thing…I'm just…" she scoffed at herself for even _thinking_ the words, let alone about to say them out loud. "I'm finding that those aren't really…the qualities I want."

She gave a bark of laughter at her bizarre explanation. "I know it doesn't make sense. Things are just kind of…"

"Complicated?" Alan supplemented for her.

She gave a huff of amusement. "How'd you know?"

He let go of Claire's hand and leaned back into his own space. "That's what you said last time. Are you sure this doesn't have anything to do with that guy?"

Claire sighed, bowing her head in defeat. "Honestly…" she cursed under her breath, pushing her hands into her hair in frustration. Sylar was the _exact _opposite of Alan, but even after the fact the way she _felt_…The way she felt with Sylar was a million times stronger than any other man she'd met. "I think it might. But…not really by _choice_ on my part…We're just kind of…"

"Meant to be?" Alan finished, somewhat facetiously.

_Ugh, now he sounds like Sylar_, Claire frowned. "He's always going to be a part of my life. It's not something I can help, unfortunately. If things were different…There's just no way I can shake him. I've tried, trust me."

"Ever thought of a restraining order?" he suggested, _far _too seriously.

Claire burst out laughing. "I have a feeling that wouldn't have much effect. He's not a _threat_ to me or anything…just uh…"

"You don't have to explain," Alan told her, turning back to the fireworks. "I understand."

"I don't know that you do," Claire mumbled, shrugging. "But so long as you know."

"You're off the market," Alan summed up. "It's okay."

Claire didn't like to disappoint people (and she certainly didn't like the term "off the market" being thrown about in regards to her), but she didn't necessarily feel _bad_ for rejecting Alan a second time. Actually, Claire felt something more akin to relief after getting that off her chest, and enjoyed watching the rest of the fireworks, even if things felt a little awkward and tense between her and her ride home.

Though not overly tired, Claire went directly to bed after Alan dropped her off at her door. She lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling for a long time, mulling recent events over in her mind. She was considering giving up entirely and going to watch some TV, when her phone rang, scaring half the life from her.

She threw an arm over to her nightstand and groped around for the offending item. When she squinted at the display, she found that the number wasn't one saved in her phone; the area code looked familiar though.

Eyes narrowing, she seriously deliberated just ignoring the call; she ignored the way her heart started to beat faster. Curiosity got the better of her, and she flipped it open and shoved it to her ear. "What?"

There was a slight pause, and then, "Did I interrupt something?"

Claire sighed. "No, I'm just in bed." _And _why_ did I just share that information with Sylar? _"What do you want?"

"Just wanted to see how your date went," he admitted.

Claire giggled, "You nervous, or what?"

"Should I be?" Sylar questioned, and she could hear the smirk on his face.

"No," Claire confessed, "Just wasn't written in the stars I'm afraid."

"Well I could have told you that," he informed her. "One of these days you should let someone who actually has a _chance_ with you take you out on a date."

She tried not to think about why it was so easy for Sylar to make her laugh tonight. "If you're talking about yourself then, yeah, you have a chance. I should warn you though; it's about equal to a snowball's chance in Hell."

When he chuckled Claire felt vibrations start up in her gut. "Oh, you _know_ it's only a matter of time before you give in to me, Claire."

"You're right," Claire sighed in defeat. "Call me when the rest of civilization dies out," finding that an appropriate ending to their conversation, Claire snapped her phone shut before he had a chance to respond.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

After their little tête-à-tête, Claire spent an unreasonable amount of time thinking about Sylar. She couldn't decide if she was more relieved or disconcerted to finally understand why she wasn't attracted to any of the young men that were keen on suiting her. _What does that mean?_, Claire asked herself, because she wasn't quite ready to allow her brain to register that it meant Sylar really _was _right about everything. That he truly _was_ the only one that had a chance with her. _Why is Sylar the only one that makes me feel something close to human when _he's_ such a monster?_ She didn't understand, and frankly she didn't quite think it was just.

Suddenly, Claire's hatred of Sylar intensified ten times over. _If he hadn't broken me to begin with I'd still be able to feel_. _Then I'd be able to date a _normal_ guy. It's all that son-of-a-bitches _fault_, _Claire seethed. Tossing over and stuffing her face down into her pillow, she let out a muffled scream of frustration. She bolted up into a sitting position and heaved her fists into the pillow irately.

"Stupid…fucking…_jerk_!" Claire hissed, wishing with every angry cell in her body that it was Sylar's face she were assaulting, and not a memory foam pillow. "It's not fucking _fair_!" she cried out, and when she paused and looked down she found wet spots on the lime green fabric; a tear dropped off her chin and added itself to the scatterings.

She beat both fists down once more, then collapsed into the pillow and continued to soak it. Claire cried harder than she had in awhile; perhaps not since Nathan's death.

Recalling her biological father's murder and the man to blame for it only made the tears fall more rapidly, and caused Claire's breathing to become hitched in her throat with each sob.

When she could calm herself enough to weep silently, Claire began to think again. The fact that Sylar could still push her into such a state of anguish not only meant that he still had one strong, solid foot in her life, but also that her adoptive father had been right about Sylar still being able to harm Claire emotionally.

A few tears of lament joined the rest leaving her eyes as Claire regretted how she left things with her dad earlier that evening, especially since she hadn't seen him since Central Park six months ago.

As her mind then floated to _that_, Claire rolled over flat on her back and stared at the ceiling. Moonlight slipped into her room through her not-quite-closed blinds, casting a soft glow over a good portion of her room. The shadows of the tree branches on her ceiling swayed, and when Claire focused she could hear the wind swirling about outside.

_Peter said Sylar saved Emma…says that he's changed, different; "A better man," to quote my dear uncle directly. Well I still want to kill him. But first I want him to undo everything that he's done to me_, Claire reflected, _I want Nathan and Meredith back, I want to feel pain and pleasure and _not_ at the hands of a serial killer! I want him to _fix _me!_

She stilled then, completely; body and mind. Ever so slowly the thought began to bloom, sending a faint glimmer of hope to her heart. _Fix me…could he? If he understands how things work…he could. Couldn't he? _

Claire contemplated this for a little while, focusing on taking deep, even breaths. Eventually she pulled herself out of bed and moved to the bathroom, preparing a cold shower as she peeled off her clothing.

Once under the icy water she tilted her face up and let the drops soothe her puffy eyes. She washed methodically but slowly, taking her time under the cold stream to calm and further awaken herself.

Once she was all wrapped up in towels she sat on the edge of her bed and picked up her cell phone. She stared at it for a moment before she finally scrolled through her contacts and selected Jillian's name; the manager and owner of Jillie's diner.

"Claire?" the phone was answered immediately by her boss. "Is everything okay?"

"Jillian, I'm so sorry to call so late. There's a family emergency in New York and I'm flying out in a few hours. I just wanted to let you know I wouldn't be in for at least the next few days. I'm so sorry to do this to you."

"Oh! Goodness, no, darling! Don't worry!" Jillie's voice was filled with concern and surprise; Claire felt bad for lying.

_What am I supposed to do, tell her the _real_ reason I want to go to New York?_ "I'll call you and let you know as soon as I figure out when I'll be heading back. I'm sorry Jillie," Claire apologized.

"Take your time, dear! I'll be praying for you!" Claire felt worse.

The next thing she did was sit down at her computer and get a ticket for the soonest flight into New York City, and then called for a cab. A flight at four a.m. gave Claire three hours to pack up and get to the airport. She grabbed the duffel bag from the top shelf of her closet and began stuffing enough clothes in it for a few days' journey. After packing up her toiletries and taking a glance around she surmised she had everything she needed.

She was just double checking that the toaster, coffee maker, curling iron and such were unplugged when an unfamiliar number rang her; the driver, letting her know he was waiting outside. She told him she'd be right down, making sure to turn off the lights and lock the door behind her.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

When her flight landed it was 1:00 pm on a beautiful sunny afternoon. Claire shielded her eyes as she stepped out of the airport, duffel bag slung around her shoulder. It was easy to catch a taxi outside the airport; what _wasn't_ easy was deciding which address to give the driver.

"If you want me to go, you'll have to give me a destination," the grumpy (slightly smelly) man barked at Claire. "Otherwise let a different fare get in."

She figured she could see Peter later on, afraid that if she didn't deal with Sylar first and foremost she would lose her nerve and the whole trip would be a waste. She rattled off the address from memory, as that scrap of paper was all she really had to stare at on her five hour flight.

She rolled down her window and leaned her head against the frame, letting the wind blow through her hair as they zipped through the streets of Manhattan. Though she wasn't paying very close attention to anything, she _did_ recognize that she was actually fairly close to Peter's apartment as well.

When he stopped in front of a higher-class looking building Claire was surprised; someone like Sylar should be living in a rundown fleabag motel, or the basement of an abandoned house, or an evil lair, not a _penthouse_. She passed the driver the fare and told him to keep the change, which made for a decent tip (especially for having to put up with his smell).

The cab drove away, and the second she turned around and looked up at the building her stomach sank like a brick. Walking up to the door slowly, she extended one finger, looking for his buzzer. There were no numbers, just a list of names; and Sylar's wasn't on there (neither was Gabriel Gray). Her hand hovered there, unsure of which action to take next, and that's when Claire noticed that the vibration/tingling had started again.

Luckily for her, she didn't have to wait long before someone came up to the building, producing a key to the inside.

"Excuse me," she caught the young man as he unlocked the door. "I'm looking for the man that lives in apartment 604? Do you know his name?"

The man frowned slightly and shook his head, as if he were sorry he couldn't help her. "No, I'm on the third floor. Don't go up there. Sorry. If you want to try going up there…" he trailed off, holding the door open for her.

Claire grinned. "Thanks, I really appreciate it."

"I like the stairs," he explained to her as they walked inside, but the elevators are right over there," he pointed, and Claire thanked him again before going in that direction.

The elevator doors opened as soon as she pushed the 'up' button, so Claire didn't spend a lot of time gawking at the fancy looking lobby of the building. Modern art hung everywhere, but this day Claire paid it no attention. The ride up to the sixth floor seemed to take far longer than it needed to, and by the time Claire was standing in front of 604 she felt like her legs were going to crumple right out from under her. Hesitantly, she raised her fist and beat twice on the door.

She didn't have to wait long before it opened, Sylar leaning on the doorframe, delight dancing in his eyes. "_Really_ couldn't stay away, could you?"

She walked passed him, entering his apartment without so much as a greeting. Claire looked around her slowly; it was nice, large, but empty, in Claire's opinion. Cold. No pictures, no books, no art. Just the usual kitchen table and chairs, couch, television, a few empty end-tables.

"Need something?" Sylar questioned her as he shut the door.

Claire turned around, fixing her gaze to Sylar's; he could probably see the desperation in her eyes. "Fix me."

He stared at her for a full minute before he responded. "Are you broken?"

"Yes," Claire notified him. "You did it. Put me back."

Sylar shook his head, frowning. "I've no recollection of such a thing. I think you're mistaken, Claire."

When he said her name, Claire felt that familiar shudder crawl up her spine. "Don't play dumb," she snapped, her anger flaming and burning out the doubt and nervousness that had settled in her core since she stepped off the plane. "Ever since you cut me open and took my power I haven't been able to feel pain or…_anything_, really, except—" she stopped herself, not wanting to say the words to him.

"Except what?" Sylar asked her, moseying over to where she stood in the center of the living room. When she kept her mouth shut, he circled her slowly, eyes studying her carefully. "Except what, Claire?" he inquired again.

She whipped around when he came to stand behind her, heart practically thudding its way out of her ribcage. "Fix me," she requested again, some of that desperation finally leaking out in her voice.

"What makes you think I can?" Sylar questioned, raising an eyebrow as he stared down at her. He took another half-step towards her; Claire forced her legs to stay where they were currently placed.

"You can," she nodded, growing angry that he was playing with her like this. "I know you can. If you cut me open and broke me then surely you can go back in—"

Her reasoning was interrupted by Sylar's dark chuckle. "I _told_ you, my methods have developed beyond that," he reminded her, pushing a lock of golden hair out of her face. "Remember?"

Claire_ did_ remember, all too well, how Sylar had taken his answers from her the last time he wanted them; as she recalled his lips against hers, Claire blushed. She didn't respond, but forced her eyes to pull up from the ground to his eyes. "Tell me you can do it," she demanded, almost frantically. "Say the words."

"I can fix you," he murmured. "Can you fix me?"

Claire ignored his question, focusing only on those first four words as she squeezed her eyes shut and closed the short distance, pushing her soft, pink lips to his. When he wrapped his arms around her middle and crushed her body to his, Claire found her hands coming up to touch his face. It must have been at least a day or two since he'd shaved; the dark stubble prickled Claire's hands and cheeks, sending shocks from her head to her toes.

She was unsure if it were his heartbeat or her own she could feel hammering against her chest, but as Sylar's tongue slid into her mouth to meet hers, Claire found that breathing was somewhat of an issue. She ignored it, since she didn't _really_ need air anyways. When her legs finally seemed to finish their transformation to jelly, Claire wrapped her arms around Sylar's neck to keep upright. She tried to quash the mental debate going on between whether he _smelled_ or _tasted_ better.

She continued to push her lips to his desperately, waiting to feel something that indicated Sylar had fixed her brain; but all she felt were the rush of emotions that always hit her when she was with Sylar, amplified a few hundred times. _Murderer, evil, monster, jerk_, Claire tried to think as his tongue explored her mouth like he'd been waiting centuries to do so. _Psycho, serial killer, maniac!_

If the mental bashing were meant to quell the sensations that Sylar was making her feel, it wasn't working. In fact, the sheer absurdity of what she was doing (and with whom) only made her head spin more violently. They stood together, lost in the passionate kiss for several minutes.

As Claire finally pulled her lips from Sylar's with a quivering gasp, she realized the tears had started streaming down her cheeks once more. He didn't allow her to move any further away, but kept his arms locked around her and pushed his forehead to hers. Claire closed her eyes and let the tears fall.

Sylar's hands didn't leave the small of her back, but her head was tilted up by a gentle, unseen force. She kept her eyes closed as Sylar's lips trailed over her cheeks, kissing away the tears there. "I'm done," he murmured against her damp skin. "How do you feel?"

Claire shook her head and buried it into his shoulder, _definitely_ not wanting to look him in the eyes for her next words. "I can't…tell the difference," she confessed slowly. "I always felt something with you."

"Rage," Sylar guessed softly; she could hear the smile in his voice. "Disgust. Anguish."

"No," Claire admitted. "Well, yes, all those things too but…" she pulled away from him, sniffing and bringing the back of her hands up to scour her cheeks clear of tears; he finally released her and she turned away, pacing over to the kitchen and staring out the window above the sink. The sun stared in back at her blindingly. "Other things too; pain, fear, excitement."

The young blonde took a deep breath and turned around; Sylar remained stock-still in the center of the living room, gazing at her, dark eyes alight with interest. Unfortunately, Claire found that when she faced him the whole confessing thing got a lot harder. "Pleasure," she had to drop her head and laugh as she saw one of Sylar's eyebrows arch impossibly high. "Not _quite_ what you think," the former cheerleader backtracked. "I suppose at the point I had been at _any_ sensation would feel like pleasure."

Claire sighed, wrapping her arms around her middle as she leaned against the counter. "I think that's why it didn't work out with Alan. Or…anyone else. No one could make me feel like you did."

"Claire," Sylar admonished, rolling his eyes. "If you keep comparing _every _guy to me then you really are going to end up alone."

She ignored that comment. "Shouldn't be a problem now, though," she declared, knocking a fist against her skull. "Seeing as how you've taken care of that little glitch."

Claire stepped away from the counter, heading for the door, "Well, thanks for that," she expressed her gratitude lamely. Once more the young girl found her body frozen in place as her personal boogeyman advanced on her. When he spun her around, Claire's eyes fluttered shut and her lips uttered his name involuntarily, "Sylar." _I don't want to be trapped here like this, not now, not after that. I can't, I'm not strong enough, I can't fight him anymore. I can't…can't be here…_ Claire's mind swirled; she vaguely wondered if this was what getting drunk felt like.

The man in question placed his hands on both sides of his fated lover's face, his own eyes closing as he inhaled her scent. "Say it again," he demanded softly, pushing his lips to her forehead. "Please," Sylar requested in a whisper against her lips.

Claire's head buzzed as her body was jolted once again by a current of electricity. "Sylar," Claire repeated against his lips, "Are you shocking me?"

Sylar stumbled back a few steps and laughed, "You caught me," he gave a devilish grin that sent a second jolt through Claire's system. Closing the space between them once more, Sylar slid his arms around Claire's petite frame, dipping his lips down to her ear and taking a hearty whiff of her golden locks while he was there. "Are you quite upset?"

Claire tried to speak, couldn't, settled on shaking her head instead. Butterflies battled in her stomach when she felt his smile against her skin. Tears began to sting her eyes and Claire squeezed her lids shut, willing them away. It just wasn't _fair_ how good this felt. A single treacherous tear escaped through Claire's tear-duct; she didn't flinch when Sylar brushed his finger across her flawless skin to remove it for her, expecting it.

"I want to be better. For you," he told the trembling girl. "Don't be scared to be with a better me."

Claire's mind came back into focus. Pulling away, she frowned, "I don't know any other you than the one that's been torturing me for the last six years," the conflicted young woman shook her head. "And I can't allow myself to stay here when I don't know _what_ I'm feeling, or _why_," the floodgates opened, and Claire turned away, covering her face with her hands. _Damn it all, this is all I need, him seeing me losing it like this. _"I can't do this," she muttered, shaking her head again. "I can't do this."

Sylar's hands appeared on her shoulders, stilling the anxious beauty against his chest. "You don't have to _do_ anything, Claire," he soothed. "You don't have to think about what you're feeling, just _feel_ it," he turned her around again, manually this time, and gently pulled her hands away. "Please don't cry," Sylar urged Claire.

_Who is this?_ Claire wondered, a new, unknown emotion filling her. _He's so radically different from the monster I've known, but still the exact same…_ "I can't be here right now," she pulled away again and fled for the door, absolutely relieved when he finally allowed her to escape.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She left the building through the back exit and stood in the alley for a few moments, trying to will the tears to stop flowing. _Get a hold of yourself, Claire_, she mentally snapped at herself. _You can't keep letting him do this to you._

Then, a happening that made Claire think she'd finally lost it, she began arguing with her own mind. "I do it to myself," the words were spoken out loud before Claire even registered them. "He drives me crazy because I let him."

_You're stronger than he is. You can fight back. You don't have to settle for him_, she thought desperately.

Wiping her cheeks, Claire sniffed. "It doesn't feel like settling. _Damn it_," she swore as she realized that fact. "Why, why, why, why, _why_ does he make me feel that way?" Claire struck a nearby garbage can with her pristinely white sneakers. Relieved as a small amount of frustration left her with the act, Claire moved closer to the pile of garbage to stomp and punt it thoroughly.

When she stopped she was panting for air, one thought on her mind. One place she might get a few answers. "Peter," Claire Bennet muttered.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

It was a ten minute cab ride to her uncle's apartment on the Lower East Side, confirming Claire's already solid suspicion that the two were in fact still cohorts, their goal _obviously_ to ruin Claire's life and sanity.

When she pushed the buzzer by his name, Claire was relieved when he answered. "Hello?"

"Peter, it's Claire; don't be so surprised and let me up." The door buzz sounded immediately, signaling her admittance to enter.

When Claire got to Peter's apartment, he was standing in the open doorway, confusion and delight mingling on his face. "Claire!" he greeted, wrapping his niece in a hug she didn't return. "What brings you to town?"

"You and Tweedledum," she informed him bitterly. "I'd like to talk to you about that."

Her uncle winced and gave her a sheepish half smile, stepping aside to let Claire into his home. "Figured from your voicemail," he recounted.

Claire wandered in, her hands set firmly on her hips. "So you and Sylar are just best buddies now, aren't ya?"

Peter sighed, knowing that this was going to be a difficult conversation. "It's not like that, Claire. You don't understand—"

"_You_ don't understand!" the frustrated girl screeched, spinning around to point an accusatory finger at him. "He didn't slice _your_ head open and grope _your_ brain, breaking you in the process. You weren't the one that had _just_ found your biological parents when he snatched them away! _You_ aren't the one he wants to spend eternity with, so, _no_, Peter, I _don't_ think you understand!"

Her poor uncle stared at her, speechless. "Claire…"

"I _can't_!" Claire insisted for what felt like the millionth time that day; her legs finally gave out and she crumpled down to the floor, crying into her hands. _Why is this so damn hard?_ "I can't _forgive_ him, I can't _forget_ him, I can't do _anything_!" Two angry fists met Peter's wooden floor with a _thump_.

Peter sat next to her on the floor and wrapped his arms around his niece, pulling her closer to him; he ran his hands over her hair in a lame attempt to soothe her. "You don't have to do anything right now," Peter informed her. "You have time to figure it out; all the time in the world."

"I'm sick of people saying that to me," Claire sniffed, stiffening as she recalled Sylar's words the other evening.

"Sylar—_Gabriel_ is different now, Claire. He's not the man he was before. He's changed."

"It takes a little more than having a nightmare to change someone like _Sylar_," Claire hissed his name, angry that her uncle would refer to him as anything but the monster he was.

"I was in there _with_ him, Claire. Alone. For _years_, trapped in his head. It took that long for us to work through our stuff, and it's going to take just as long—longer, probably—for you to do the same."

"I don't _want_ to do the same. I want him to suffer," Claire scooted away from Peter and used her hands to push herself up. Once standing, she shuffled over to a window and stared out it.

"He _has_ been suffering, Claire. He was suffering the whole time. When he's with you…things are better."

She raised a fine eyebrow, eyes never leaving the streets below. "He told you that?"

"Among other things," she heard Peter standing as well, and making his way over to her. "Things that I, as your uncle, would probably be happier not knowing."

Claire hated that that made her giggle and shudder at the same time. "Like what?"

"He's in love with you, Claire," Peter finally spelled it out in black and white. "You knew that, right?"

_Love? Sylar can't feel love. _Claire wanted to say those words out loud, but couldn't; couldn't say _anything_. She thought about the way he made her dinner and breakfast, lying wrapped up in his arms, his lips against hers, and closed her eyes, leaning her head against the window frame wearily.

"It's true. I didn't really believe it myself but…" her uncle trailed off, and it seemed that both of them had run out of words.

"Aren't you…still mad?" Claire turned to face him, confusion furrowing her brows. "Have you honestly forgiven him for _everything?_" she knew she was grasping at straws. If Peter had decided that Sylar was an okay guy now nothing was going to change that.

He surprised her by answering, "No. Not everything," her uncle pulled her into a hug. "He hurt you a lot. And _that_ I'll never forgive him for. But he wants to make it up to you. _And_," he added, pushing her back and focusing his brown eyes to her green ones, a small smile playing on his lips. "If it hadn't been for Sylar we never would have met to begin with. You wouldn't have found out who you _really_ were. You're a Petrelli," he informed her. "And Petrellis can accomplish _anything_ they want."

"I don't even know _what_ I want," Claire admitted, turning back to the window. "When I think about him I just want to scream and kill something. But when I'm _with_ him…" Claire was starting to think that this whole New York expedition had been a terrible idea. She should have just stayed in Costa Verde with her head stuck in the sand, not giving a thought to maniacs or betraying uncles.

Claire walked about the apartment living room restlessly. "I should just go home," she sighed after a while. "If I go back to Sylar's…" she couldn't finish the thought, honestly not knowing _what_ would happen. "And staying _here_ is just making me angrier with you," she made her way to the door, turning back to Peter, who had followed her. "I'll keep in touch. I'm sorry it was such a crappy reunion."

Peter Petrelli shook his head, giving her a sad smile. "You have stuff to work through. I understand. Come back anytime, Claire. You're always welcome."

They said their goodbyes and hugged. As soon as she stepped out of the front door to the building, her phone rang; Sylar.

"What?" she barked into the phone.

"Do you have a plane ticket yet?" Sylar asked her.

Claire stopped walking. "No…I didn't know when I would be leaving."

"I'd like to save you some money and get you back to Costa Verde, if you'll allow me to."

The fact that he could fly because he killed and then impersonated her biological father for several weeks was enough to get Claire seething once more. "I'm not flying with you," she bit out.

"You just left Peter's, right?"

"Yes…" Claire answered slowly, bewildered by his change of subject. She didn't even have the chance to ask for an explanation; suddenly his voice sounded behind her and in her ear at the same time.

"We don't have to fly," he explained, snapping his phone shut as Claire whipped around in astonishment. "Ran into Hiro a few weeks ago. _Man_, teleporting is _fun_. And convenient," he added. Claire just stared at him. "So? Can I take you home?"

She thought about it; thought about the killing her bank account took with the unexpected flight out to New York, thought about how she was missing earning precious dollars at her job right then. Then Claire thought about the tall man before her; thought about cuddling into him under the cover of darkness, thought about the kiss they shared hardly an hour ago, thought about the mental and emotional breakdown she suffered in front of him shortly after.

She sighed. "Peter called you, didn't he?"

"The second you left," Sylar answered honestly. "Let me just pop you back home," he insisted, wrapping one of his large hands around her delicate one. "And I'll leave you right after."

They were in her living room when the words tumbled out, "You don't have to leave." Just saying it made her heart jump up to her throat and her stomach drop to her feet.

"If you don't want me to," Sylar murmured, pulling her closer to him, "then I won't," he uttered against her hair as he kissed the top of her head. He led her to the couch and sat them down, leaning back with Claire in his arms. His finger twitched and the television popped on and began flipping through channels.

Claire tried to relax against his hard body. When she closed her eyes the whole staying up all night and randomly flying to New York thing got to her; with her face against his chest and her arms curled up between their bodies, Claire fell asleep.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

**Well there's chapter 2! I'm leaving **_**my**_** page breaks in this time, and I would like everyone to take a second and hit the review button; let me know if you like the standard page breaks or this better, and which one makes it easier for you to read!**

**THANK YOU, once again, to my multiple betas and dedicated readers! You're the ones that make this story worth writing!**

**Love and Peace to all,**

**Raiast**


	3. Stages One Through Five

**Hey all! So, obviously, this chapter is not nearly as long as the last two. This is for multiple reasons: 1) I just started a second job that has kept me _very_ busy (and exhausted!), so things have been pretty stressful for me! 2) I kind of got stuck o_O So... yeah. I thought, "some is better than none, and you've waited long enough". So here it is.**

**ALSO! Every time I got a review from you guys I felt like a horrible person for having no time for writing, which forced me (on several occasions) to stay up until an ungodly hour despite my body's cry for sleep. So there. Review, and I shall write. =P**

**I did want to respond to a couple of reviewers that brought up a couple of good points that I worried other people would be thinking about. Here we go!**

**aclassicistkitten says, "My only gripe is that Claire can feel. I thought she was numb."**

**Raiast's eyebrows rise slightly, eyes widening; a slightly shaking hand comes up to rub the back of her slender neck nervously. "Uhh...yeah. She was. ...Is? Uhh.. what I mean to say is... I was... *ahem* Next question please?" - No, seriously, when I read this review I couldn't come up with an answer myself! lol I suppose you could just write it off as part of the AU (Because, as happens when inexperienced gain power over things they love to play with: rules bend, rules break, and no, thank you very much, it doesn't _have _to make sense. And the fact that it doesn't isn't contradictory, it's _Art_.) In all seriousness, I don't know how to fix it in a brilliant twist of writing, so if you can, just ignore the fact that I make no sense (that's what I do =P !). If you _can't_, just let me know and I'll call upon my fanfiction angels to come up with something for me (that's a shout out to all you betas/soundboards, btw teehee).**

**Bear with me! One more question, then on with the story...**

**Oh, never mind. I just spent five minutes scouring all my reviews and then realized I was thinking about (one of) my beta(s) pointing out my grand overuse of the comma.. so sorry about that annoyance. Anyways!**

**OoOoOoOoO  
**

Once more, Claire dreamt. Unlike the last two evenings, this dream was incoherent, blurry, choppy. She stood wrapped in the arms of her lover as they teleported to all sorts of different places: Paris, Munich, Moscow, Sidney, Dublin, London. When it seemed that they had been everywhere they had desired, Gabriel started jumping them through time.

First they were in the past. _Far_ in the past. _Biblical_ times, in fact. Gabriel held Claire close to his chest as they hovered a few stories above the ground, looking down and watching solemnly as Christ was crucified; Claire felt a few tears escape.

Then, the future. Ironically, it was just the kind of future that Hollywood plugs these days: hover cars, meals from dehydrated food tablets, jetpacks—the works. They didn't stay long, though Claire didn't really know why.

Back to the past then, but one that Claire remembered. They were in Costa Verde; Gabriel had a hold of Claire's hand, leading her through her old house slowly. When they came to the entrance of the living room, they stopped and stared at the pitiful girl that was curled up on the couch, crying; she was covered in streaks of red.

When the blonde on the couch looked up, her eyes narrowed immediately at her company. "What are you doing with him?" Younger-Claire questioned herself in a hiss. "Don't you remember what he did to us?"

Future-Claire instantly sprang to the defensive when she sensed her partner's shame and frustration. "He's not like that anymore," Claire informed herself harshly, taking a small half-step in front of Gabriel protectively. "Gabriel's a different man now."

"Don't defend that _monster_ to me!" the seventeen-year-old version of herself spat back quickly. "_Gabriel_?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow and letting out a low, mocking laugh. "He's nothing _close_ to an angel. Don't call him that. He chose his name when he chose his life. _Sylar_."

"No," Gabriel stated softly, his tone twisted with pain.

"_Sylar_," the hateful girl repeated, glaring at the man in question through fiercely narrowed eyes. "Good old monster, _Sylar_."

"No!" Gabriel rejected, more insistently this time. "Shut up."

The young Claire continued to goad her tormentor, and future-Claire saw Gabriel starting to slip.

"The only reason you stopped killing was because you already stole everything you wanted. If you didn't have my ability yet you'd be slicing me open right now. Wouldn't you? Admit it! You're a killer!"

"No!" Gabriel shouted, and he threw his hand out in front of him, slamming the younger blonde against the wall behind her.

"Gabriel—" Claire started towards him, freezing a second later, and not by her choice. She was forced to stand in that spot as her lover slowly raised his hand, one solitary finger pointing a death sentence at her younger self. She couldn't even cry as he watched him kill her.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Gabriel Gray lounged across a couch that was quickly becoming familiar to him; another familiar thing, Claire, slept curled against his chest, bodies squeezed together to fit them both on the sofa.

He had turned on her television, but found himself more interested in staring down at her flawlessness. Her skin was as if someone had drenched her in liquid gold; even as the sun dropped below the horizon and the room darkened considerably, Claire still shone like a beacon. Her equally gold, silken hair fell chaotically over his chest, the black of his t-shirt like a backdrop for its beauty; random locks fell over her face as she shifted and squirmed in her sleep, and Gabriel brushed them away softly.

He wanted her to wake, so he could stare into her gorgeous green eyes; he even wanted to annoy her just to see the fire that lit up in them when he got her riled up. Claire had been resting for five or six hours, and Gabriel thought about shifting about to "accidentally" rouse her.

He was seriously considering the notion when the volume of the TV faded into the background and all he could hear was Claire's heart, thrumming faster by the moment. Upon looking down, Gabriel found her mouth turned down in a frown, bottom lip poking out slightly, as if she were pouting; her perfectly sculpted eyebrows were furrowed deeply over her closed eyes.

She whimpered slightly, then: "Gabriel."

It was barely more that a murmur, but it sent _his_ heart pounding just as fast as hers. He _did_ want to wake her then, so he could touch, lick, bite, kiss the beautiful mouth that had just uttered his given name. Gabriel felt something swell in his chest, but as he spied a solitary tear running down her cheek, it deflated and disappeared.

He shifted to remove the arm she was laying on and brought his hand up to her cheek. Gabriel stroked it softly, wiping away the tear and caressing Claire awake. "Claire," he whispered against the top of her head. "Wake up," he tried gently.

It worked, though not quite as Gabriel had hoped. Instead of waking slowly, smiling and stretching up to place her lips against his, Claire woke with a start, flinging herself into a sitting position. The bolting upright was a bad idea; as Claire overcompensated and found herself tipping in the wrong direction, namely, toward the floor, she panicked and grabbed a hold of Gabriel's shirt. No amount of trying could stop the two from rolling off the couch a second later.

_Well_, Gabriel thought, _at least I landed over her…_ He looked down at her, trapped under his body. Propping some of his weight on his forearms, Gabriel leaned down and stole a kiss; just a quick peck on the lips. He removed himself then, back up onto the couch, but Claire lay motionless, staring up at the ceiling.

"What did you dream about?" he asked her after a moment of silence.

"You," she replied honestly, though he didn't like the deadness in her voice. "You killed me."

Gabriel scoffed and frowned. "_Claire_," he started, in perhaps an overly patronizing tone.

"Not me, me," she interrupted softly. "Young me. We were in the past; both of us. In Costa Verde. You took us to her—me—right after you—_past_ you—cut her open. She started yelling at you and you got mad and lost it…" Claire shook her head and sat up. "It's confusing even to me, and I dreamt it."

She didn't move to join him on the couch, but stayed planted on the floor next to it, her head resting on her arms as she gazed up at him. "Why do I keep dreaming about you?" Claire asked him, lines of frustration creasing her forehead.

Gabriel shrugged. "I don't know. Why don't you come join me on the furniture?"

To his delight (and shock), she did. The stunning blonde actually _listened_ to him, and crawled back up on the couch and into his arms, resuming her position curled against his chest. "You're giving up," he hadn't _actually_ meant to say the words out loud, so much as _think _them. But he did, and Claire glared up at him.

"Excuse me?" she asked him sassily; the fire that he loved to see flamed to life in her emerald eyes.

"Ah…never mind," Gabriel gave her a small smile and jerked his body slightly to give Claire a small nudge. He brought his arms up and wrapped them around her toned abdomen. "I'm curious…about your dream."

He felt Claire stiffen slightly in his arms; after a moment of tense silence she asked, "What about it?"

"In your sleep…you said my name," he explained softly, hesitantly. "You said 'Gabriel'."

"I…don't remember," Claire said slowly. The tingling that swept through Gabriel's nervous system told him that she was lying, but he ignored it. Just knowing that _some _part of her regarded him as Gabriel instead of Sylar was enough to appease him.

"It's not important," he shrugged it off, not wanting Claire to over think it—like he knew she would. He brought a hand up to stroke her hair gently, and after a moment he felt her entire body relax and melt into him. He was suddenly immensely grateful for whatever had gotten into Claire to let herself be like this with him.

_I've done so much to her. I can apologize, but I can never take back the things I've done. But if this is the end result, her lying in my arms like this, it was all worth it, and I wouldn't change a thing._

He knew he could never say that to her—at least not within the next century or two. But the contentment that he felt when she was lying with him…even just being _near_ her, made Gabriel feel like he'd always been a man, never a monster. Made him feel like Sylar was still just a brand of a wristwatch, and nothing more. Made him feel complete, whole.

_God, I love you, Claire._ He longed to say the words, though he was pretty sure that she knew already; he was positive Peter had said _something_ to her about it. That was just like him.

She sighed and snuggled into his chest, perhaps unconsciously, as she began to drift back to sleep. "Are you hungry?" he tried, desperate to keep her awake a while longer. "Do you want me to make you dinner?"

Claire nodded lazily, "Mhmm," was the only verbal response he received. It was enough for Gabriel. He used his telekinesis to lift her off of him slowly, slipping off of the couch before lowering her back down to it gently.

Gabriel shuffled to the kitchen, going through Claire's pantry and refrigerator to see what he had to work with. He decided on making some rice and frying up some eggs and chicken. He added garlic and soy sauce to the works, dished it into a bowl, and brought it to the living room.

Kneeling on the floor next to her, Gabriel brought a hand up to cup Claire's face gently, stroking her hair with the other. "Claire," he breathed, bringing his face close to hers. "Claire, dinner's ready," he informed her softly.

The blonde stirred, blinking her eyes open slowly. "Hmm?" she asked sleepily.

Gabriel couldn't help his grin at her utter adorableness. "Your dinner is ready," he repeated, pulling away so she could sit herself up. Moving back to the kitchen, Gabriel dished up his own helping and sat himself down next to Claire. "Did you sleep well?"

"I pulled an all-nighter," she explained. "What with the deciding to fly to New York on a drop of a hat," she frowned at herself then, shaking her head. "It was nice to see Peter though."

Gabriel wondered if she was also thinking about the _other_ part of her trip; the part in which she stood in his apartment, wrapped in his arms, her body against his, tongues dancing. He had to shake his own head then, of those kinds of thoughts, lest he become a bit too aroused by the memories.

"He's a great guy," he offered lamely, still battling his thoughts of Claire, which now involved her legs wrapped around her waist and her back to the wall as he ground into her center. _God, I can't wait to have her_, he thought, every muscle in his body aching to make it happen.

Gabriel glanced at Claire from the corner of his eye, watching as she spooned her meal to her mouth delicately, deliberately paying the television more attention than him.

_Soon,_ he thought, and to his bewilderment he felt something akin to butterflies fluttering in his gut. _I'm wearing her down. It's got to be soon._

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Claire ate slowly, despite every instinct telling her to shovel in this incredible homemade Chinese cuisine concoction; she wouldn't let any part of her admit to Sylar how amazing his cooking was.

_I could keep him around as a chef for eternity…_ she surprised even herself with the thought; wanting to keep Sylar around for _any_ amount of time for _any _reason seemed completely illogical and absurd to the rational part of her brain. The other part though…the other part of her wanted him to stay, forced Claire to say the words that had brought him back into her life, for good this time, she knew.

'_You don't have to leave.'_

_Why?_ Claire thought in despair. _Why did I give him an open invitation to stay here? Why did I let him settle us on the couch? How could I fall asleep in his arms?_

_Because it feels right._ It was a new part of her mind that spoke this time; a part that Claire wasn't at all familiar with. _Because you truly are meant to be together. Forever._

_No,_ Claire denied internally, finding herself more and more insane as she argued with her own brain. _No it will never be like that._

_Liar_, that unreasonable part of her mind shot back. _You want this. You want someone that knows you in and out. Someone that wants all of who you are. That person is Sylar. It will always be Sylar._

_Shut the fuck up, _Claire thought to herself. _That will never happen._

_It's happening now,_ she realized, _him cooking you dinner, sharing your bed, falling _asleep_ in his _arms?_ It's already happening. The bridges that he spoke of a few years ago are already up and running._

_Shut the_ fuck_ up! _Claire tried to silence all mental activity once more.

"Okay?"

Sylar's voice snapped Claire back to her physical surroundings, which included Sylar sitting next to her on the couch, their thighs touching.

"What?" she asked him, blinking as she adjusted to living outside her own mind.

"You stopped eating. I was wondering if you were okay," Sylar explained.

"I'm fine," Claire lied, and her voice sounded hollow and false even to her own ears. "Just thinking."

"Don't think so hard," he advised, but Claire had already been pulled back into her internal battle.

_Sylar said it himself: 'You're giving up'. You might as well just let it happen, because the whole situation has got you wigging out._

Claire unconsciously shook her head at that thought. _I'm not going to let _anything_ happen._

_I'm tired of fighting._

_I'll never stop fighting, _Claire declared.

_I want to be with him!_

She froze then, completely; every part of Claire shut down for three or four seconds. Then, like a computer rebooting, she shot back into herself with a small gasp, dropping her spoon into her bowl.

She did. Some part of her really _did_ want to be with Sylar. Some part of her was happy when he was there; some part of her _felt_.

…_Okay, _Claire finally conceded. _Alright, you win._

"Claire?" Sylar was questioning again.

She shook her head a bit and smiled, repositioning her body so she was leaning against his shoulder. Her spoon began its trek back to her mouth with another helping of fried rice.

"What do I win?" Sylar inquired after a moment.

Claire felt blood flush her face, and an involuntary giggle bubbled out of her throat. "I was talking to myself."

"Well…what do _you _win?" he nudged her, and when Claire glanced over her breath was stolen by the playful grin lighting up Sylar's face and eyes. He looked…_human_.

_You, _she almost said it out loud. Her lips had started to form the word when she paused. "Peace of mind, I guess," she sighed, setting her nearly empty bowl down on the coffee table and snuggling into Sylar's shoulder. He pulled his arm from between their bodies and snaked it around her, pulling her against him fully. Claire let her head drop to his shoulder.

"That's a good thing to have," he murmured into her hair; a chill ran down Claire's spine at the feeling.

"I suppose," she gave another sigh; dramatic this time, and her heart began to race when Sylar's deep chuckle met her ears. "Thanks for the rice…it was great," the words came out softly, shyly; Claire felt her face burning again, tried to ignore it.

"You're welcome," she could hear the smile in his voice, and as his hand came up once again to stroke her hair lovingly, her eyes fluttered shut; every last one of her brain cells began concentrating on the feeling of his fingers running through her locks, over her scalp, and Claire became vaguely aware that butterflies had begun battling in her stomach.

_This isn't bad_, she thought, her breaths coming out in small, soft, contented sighs. _I can forget who he was, what he's done; focus on who he is now. He's a good man, and he loves me._

Claire made a resolution in that moment to attempt to forget Sylar forever. After all, _Sylar_ wasn't who she wanted to be with.

_This_ was who she wanted to be with; this man, cooking her supper, stroking her hair, drying her tears. _This_ was the person with whom she could walk through eternity.

Gabriel.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

**So the title… Stages One Through Five… obviously representing the five stages (denial, anger, bargaining, grief, acceptance). Thought it was appropriate to Claire's insane mind workings from the last _few_ chapters. I do realize that she doesn't really go through bargaining per _se_ but… well, you read it above already: Things don't always make perfect sense with me. Fear not, kind readers, for there is a method to my madness.**

**Love you all! Thanks for reading!**

**Raiast out.**


	4. Confessions

Claire and Gabriel lounged on the couch for awhile after their meal in comfortable silence, the television long since turned off when they both realized that neither of them had any interest in the object.

Both had considered making small talk at one point or another, but both wrote off the idea quickly as well. There were moments for talking and there were moments for just…_existing_. Claire Bennet had decided quickly (Gabriel's even breathing, pounding heart and fiddling with her locks had helped her a bit) that this was one of those existing moments.

She was content with lying against him and staring up at the ceiling in silence, but Gabriel (for she was, now, at least _mentally_, forcing herself to regard this person as Gabriel) had other plans. When he asked her when she was supposed to work next, Claire cringed, remembering her flighty disappearance the evening before.

Claire knew he felt her tense, because his arms gave a little squeeze to her midsection, and his lips found the side of her head. "I…was supposed to be there today…and tomorrow. I told Jillie I had a family emergency in New York," she felt her face flush with shame at her poor etiquette; blowing off work was never okay for anything less than an emergency. Sure, Claire had been losing her mind, but it still wasn't quite what she would classify as an emergency.

"You did that to come see me?" he asked her, sounding an even mixture of surprised and pleased. "To get yourself fixed?" Now Gabriel sounded skeptical, "How _is_ that, by the way?"

Claire shrugged. "I don't know. Like I said, it wasn't a problem when you were around. Are around," shaking her head, the young girl sighed in frustration. "I don't know," she repeated, and left it at that.

Gabriel shifted nervously behind her, and Claire felt his heartbeat increase ever so slightly; she vaguely wondered when she had become so attuned to his body. "Since you've got the time off _anyway_… what would you say to spending the evening in New York?"

A small smile tugged at the blonde's mouth, "Why?"

Claire felt him shrug behind her. "Change of scenery. Plus," he continued, his lips to her ear, voice _rumbling_ in that way it sometimes did. "My bed is much, much bigger than yours," he gave her a playing jab between the ribs with one of his long fingers, and Claire squealed and squirmed involuntarily.

"Okay she agreed. But tomorrow I'm calling Jillian to tell her I'll be back at work on Wednesday," Claire had scarcely finished her sentence before they were back in his apartment, this time in a room unfamiliar.

Gabriel had teleported them straight to his bed, probably because squeezing them on the couch might have been a bit tricky. Claire noticed instantly that the head of the apartment was just a front, meant to appear cold and impersonal. At the back, behind his closed bedroom door, sat a room with color, decorations. A tall, dark oak bookshelf stood against one wall, next to a stouter, wider bookcase of the same finish; the dark wood complemented the wall behind it, which was a rich, pleasing shade of crimson. An expensive and modern looking stereo system sat on top of the smaller bookcase.

She turned over onto her side, Gabriel following suit, his arms around her the whole time, and studied a different wall. This was one a warm creamy color; Claire glanced back and forth between the two shades, stunned by how marvelous they looked together. A dresser with vanity mirror adorned this section of Gabriel's bedroom. There were various items scattered along the top of the vanity; Claire spied a comb, a bottle of cologne, a solitary snow globe (curious, Claire filed that away for future questioning), and, what seemed to catch her attention the most: a photograph. She couldn't see the picture from the bed, but the shape and size of the object were proof of what it was.

Extracting herself from his warm grasp, Claire slid off the bed (a gray comforter with all sorts of black and white designs) and padded over to the dresser, picking up the picture to inspect it. She didn't know if she were more shocked or bemused by the smiling faces of Peter and Gabriel, staring at the camera together, what appeared to be a Wall of Fame behind them.

Turning back to Gabriel and holding up the picture, Claire barely made a sound before he was explaining, "Wha—"

"Peter wanted to go bowling, dragged me along. They took his picture when he bowled a perfect game."

She felt her eyebrows rise, her lips split apart in a grin, "Peter bowled a perfect game?"

Gabriel shrugged, his own playful grin lighting up his face, "Well I may have helped…a bit," at Claire's disapproving scowl he jumped to the defensive, "I told him I didn't want to go, but he just _had_ to have a "normal night out", whatever that means. In retrospect, it probably would have been more satisfying to force gutter balls every time but…" he shrugged again, his grin pulling into an all-out smile at the memory. "You should have seen the look on his face when they wanted to take his picture. He looked like he was back in sixth grade and a pretty girl asked him to dance."

Claire's frown pulled into a smile at that thought. She swiveled around and propped the picture up gingerly against the mirror, eyes trailing over the little snow globe in the corner; her heart skipped a beat as she viewed the scene inside it, a proud banner stretched across the bottom that read 'Odessa, Texas'. Trying to put it out of her mind for the moment, she went to the bed and crawled back over to Gabriel, who lay in the center watching her closely. He smiled when she snuggled against him.

"You _do_ have a much bigger bed than me," Claire admitted softly, stretching out and into him at the same time. "I think it's softer too."

"Feels that way," he agreed in a mutter against her hair as he twisted them into a spooning position, "with you here."

Claire was thrilled to find that the tingling that warped through her no longer brought an accompanying sense of guilt or shame. After a moment of silent contemplation (which didn't remain silent for long as the stereo flipped on and a smooth jazz floated through the speakers) before she gathered up the nerve to ask Gabriel something she was very curious about. "Could you explain something to me?"

"What's that?" Gabriel asked lazily; he sounded as if he were drifting to sleep.

"Peter told me before…but I was wondering if _you_ could go over what happened…at Parkman's?" she felt him shift, and when he spoke again he sounded much more alert, and hesitant.

"I actually…" he gave a dry chuckle as he recollected to her, "I actually went to Parkman's to see if he could fix me. I…wanted him to take away my powers."

To say Claire was shocked was the understatement of the century. She flipped over in his arms to stare up at his face in disbelief. "You _what_?"

"I had just come from talking to you," he nudged her, scowling. "And I thought it was my only option. What I got instead…he must have still been angry that I fucked his wife…" he muttered the last bit to himself contemplatively. Claire shot up out of his arms into a sitting position, her shock fueled by an unexplainable flash of rage.

"You _what_?"

"Not—no—God, Claire not like that. When I was in his head I took control for a while to let him know…that I was still powerful…" as he spoke he seemed to lose steam; the whole explanation sounded terribly fishy. "Look, I was just trying to get him to tell me where my body was, okay? That's it."

He seemed relieved when Claire nodded after a moment and folded herself down back into his arms, signaling him to continue.

"Son of a bitch stirred some stuff up in there," he explained, knocking a fist against his skull. "I was trapped. I was in New York, alone. For years. I didn't think there was anyone else alive; didn't think I deserved a fate any less cruel. I longed to atone for the things that I'd done, but there was no one to forgive me."

Claire found her heart throbbing for him as he spoke. The pain, sadness, loneliness he must have felt there coming through in his voice. She felt tears prickling her eyes for an unknown reason.

"When Pete showed up…I thought I had finally lost it. Why Peter Petrelli, I wondered. Of all people, why would I hallucinate Peter _fucking_ Petrelli?" he shook his head, and when Claire glanced up to his face she found a small smile on his lips. "It took us years to get out. I'm not exaggerating, either, Claire. _Years_. Everyday we scoured the city. When we discovered a brick wall that ran through it we spent every day thereafter trying to knock it down. For _years_. We fought; we argued…we grew up. We bonded. And when we got out, everything was the same. We both remembered every morning; every thought, every word, every action. And nothing else mattered. All that mattered was stopping Samuel, and we did it."

Claire couldn't speak, could only stare up at him; his eyes looked incredibly intense at the moment, but his gaze was fixed on something seemingly far off. "Everything that happened feels like so long ago now, with that break of nothingness in there. I'm happy to say Peter and I still see each other regularly."

"It's good to have friends," Claire mumbled to his chest, and it rumbled with laughter.

"Yes, I suppose so," he took to his custom of threading his fingers through her shining hair, a stray finger stroking her cheek every now and then.

"I think I understand a little better now," she told him softly.

"That makes me happy," he responded, and for some reason those words made Claire's heart feel like it was expanding.

"Do you want to sleep?" Claire asked him, and Gabriel nodded, using his telekinesis to somehow slide them under the covers almost instantly; he let the smooth jazz continue, but brought the volume down a few notches.

Claire slept—for awhile. After all, that's what she had spent the majority of her afternoon doing, so by about two a.m. she could no longer lay still against Gabriel's body; she _had_ hoped that his peaceful, rhythmic breathing would lull her back to sleep, but after another twenty minutes she gave up entirely, slipping from his arms and padding into the living room to settle on the couch.

She flipped on the television and zoned out for a few hours, but by half past four Claire was feeling restless again. She combed through the kitchen until she found some scratch paper and left a note explaining that she gone out for some air and would be back later. Making sure to close the front door softly behind her, Claire slid out into the city.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

New York City truly was the city that never slept. At five in the morning there was already enough traffic out to be considered a morning rush as businessmen and women alike made their daily trek to work.

Claire walked aimlessly for a few blocks, truly missing the city life. Costa Verde was nice, decent size, but every in aspect that she set the two up against, New York won hands down every time. She tried to stay out of the way, but soon the morning joggers became too much of a nuisance to avoid, so Claire hailed a cab.

"Where too, pretty lady?" the driver asked her, with far too much pep for being 5:00 a.m.

"West Central Park," she decided immediately, feeling as though it weren't really _her_ that was speaking the order. Twenty minutes later, she stood outside a familiar building.

Walking around to the side alley, Claire located and began ascending the fire escape. She nearly cried when she reached the top, from the assault of the memories that hit her, both from her past, and seemingly her future (she still couldn't shake that first dream). She moved passed the cages that housed the pigeons and over to the edge of the roof.

There she stood and stared out for an unknown amount of time; in the span she stood there in her trance, the sun had begun to lazily rouse itself on the eastern horizon. It was casting a soft yellow glow on the skyline now, which took Claire's breath away. She didn't flinch, or move at all, when footsteps appeared behind her.

"Thought I'd find you here," they both seemed to freeze for a moment to recount their dream. After a split second his footsteps continued until he stood beside her. "Don't know why. Just had a feeling."

"I don't know why I came here, honestly," Claire admitted, blushing. "I just stepped out for some air and ended up taking a cab here. I've been thinking," she explained.

"Oh? What about?" Gabriel attempted to play it off as if he weren't interested one way or the other, but his hawk-like piercing gaze had focused on her slim form from the corner of his eye.

"You. Me. Everything."

"Can I tell you a secret?" he asked Claire, turning to her with a mischievous grin on his lips and a guilty glint in his eyes.

Claire couldn't help but scowl at him and fold her arms across her chest instinctively. "Depends. Is it going to make me angry?" she guessed, knowing the man before her all too well.

Gabriel tried to stifle the snort of laughter, failed. "Probably. I don't know. It's about your ah…feeling situation. Or lack there of."

Instantly suspicious, the young blonde's eyes narrowed, jaw setting. "What about it?"

He opened and closed his mouth, turned to the skyline, back to Claire; she'd never seen him at such a loss for words. After a few more attempts at forming words, he gave her a sheepish grin (that reminded her of Peter, for some reason) and bit his lip, closing the distance between them and pulling her slight frame into his arms, perhaps to prevent her from escaping in anger. With his lips to her ear, Gabriel admitted, "I didn't fix it."

She instantly tensed and attempted to pull away, as he knew she would, so he held her tight. "Wait, wait. It's not that I didn't try, trust me, Claire, I _did_. I searched, not just the part with your ability; I scoured your _whole_ brain. I couldn't find anything wrong or out of place."

"But…"

"It's as I told you before: no nerve endings."

"I could _feel_ before! I wasn't always numb!"

Gabriel shrugged, eyebrows furrowed, as if _he_ should have the right to be more annoyed. "I don't know, Claire. I don't know why you can't feel, or couldn't, or _whatever_. Physically, nothing is wrong with you."

Tiny fists beat against his hard chest angrily. "What the _hell_, Sylar? You're supposed to understand how things work!"

He gave a small snort, rolling his eyes. "Claire, I'll never understand how you work."

She sighed as the fight left her, giving her a surly, dejected air. "Why'd you say—"

"Claire," Gabriel whispered, stopping her question, "That kiss was absolutely incredible," he brought his hands up to cup her soft face, leaning down closer to her. "I wasn't going to let anything spoil that moment."

She was quiet for a moment. "Don't lie to me," she demanded softly, bringing her gaze up to pierce his eyes. "I hate it just as much as you do."

Gabriel nodded, his eyes apologetic. "We've both been deceived enough already. Best to be honest with each other."

Claire glanced over her shoulder, studying the pigeons as they began to coo and flutter in their cages. She thought she saw one of the wire containers shudder slightly. Turning her attention back to Gabriel, she gave a small sigh. "I guess if we're being honest with each other…" she gave a groan of frustration and dropped her head to his chest, thinking about how to best phrase this. "God, I keep expecting you to do something hideously evil and morbid, but at the same time…" Claire licked her dry lips and attempted to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat. "I can't trust you…even though I know that I can…Does that make sense?"

The tall man before her gave her a sardonic smile, "Strangely, yes, it does. And I understand—"

"You don't though," it was Claire's turn to interrupt, though her voice was soft and gentle. "The things that have been going on in my mind, the battles, the mood swings, have all brought me back to this spot, wrapped in your arms. Why?"

She looked up at him, squinting slightly as the brilliant sun gained power over the morning sky. A slight breeze rolled across the rooftop to muss Claire's hair over her face; neither moved to correct it.

"I've been thinking a lot lately. I mean, a hell of a lot more than I'd like to about most things. But I had to work through it. I had to understand what it meant. I had to know, and separate, and now I get it."

"You're going to have to specify a little, Claire, because you're losing me," Gabriel interceded.

"I can never forget the things you've done to me. To everyone. The people you hurt… You'll never receive forgiveness…as Sylar."

Claire felt his breathing hitch, felt his heart pounding as if it residing in her chest instead of his. She looked up to him, making a point to bring a hand up to touch his face, running her fingers over his scratchy cheeks (why did that unkempt appearance look so _sexy_ on him?), "But as Gabriel…" she found that both of them were having trouble breathing now, as his hands began weaving through her hair to bring her face even closer to his. Her eyes fluttered shut, but she kept on, his warm breath against her skin sending a jolt to her center every time it hit her.

"As Gabriel it doesn't matter. Who you were then is done. It's in the past. Now…" she gave a small smile, "Now you've got Peter to vouch for you so…" Claire gave a quivering sigh, tears constantly threatening to fill her eyes. "God, I hope I'm not wrong about you," there was nothing else she could say, so Claire pushed her lips to Gabriel's desperately, one or two treacherous tears escaping down her cheeks.

The second they made contact, Gabriel's hands locked around Claire's head to hold her there, not that she was making any effort to pull away. If fact, her arms slid around his neck after a moment, and her hands threaded the dark hair on the back of his head. _She_ took the lead now, sucking Gabriel's bottom lip into her mouth and then nipping on it gently until he opened his mouth and his tongue met hers.

Then it got intense.

The second his tongue swept over hers, Claire let out a wanting groan, pushing into him with all the force she had in her petite body, hands trailing down his back and up again; his large hands mirrored hers. When they finally broke apart, it was only to gasp for shuddering breaths as they continued to push their lips fervently against the others in small, desperate smooches.

"Claire," he moaned against her lips, running his hands from her shoulders to her hips.

"Gabriel," she breathed against his mouth, and he squeezed her tighter against his hard body. Claire whimpered as his lips left hers to trail down her jaw and then her neck, pausing slightly as his tongue darted out a few times to trail under her ear. She couldn't help but gasp at the feeling, and automatically brought her hands back up to his hair so she could redirect his lips to hers.

Claire giggled, not really knowing why, as they started in on round two of tongue tag. After a while, their kisses became slow, gentle, tamed. Their bodies pressed flush together, their breathing shallow, erratic; their eyes glued to their partners' and their lips brushing occasionally, softly, over the other's awaiting pair.

Gabriel dropped his forehead to Claire's, giving a soft sigh of pleasure. "Do you want to go out for breakfast?"

Claire scrunched her nose at the thought of going out in public. "I've been wearing these clothes for like two days now."

Gabriel chuckled, rerouting a lock of her hair to its rightful place behind her ear. "Well…you can shower and change and we can get breakfast in Costa Verde."

She nodded at that idea, and smiled as he leaned down to bring his lips against hers as he popped them out of existence.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

The pigeons cooed and fluttered, restless to leave their sleeping den for the freedom of New York City's skies and streets. They grew more insistent as a man shivered into sight beside the cage. The first thing he did was reach up and pop the release on the door, letting it fall open with a _clang_ and stepping back as the pigeons shot out as a collective.

The second thing he did was reach into his pocket to fish out his phone, dialing a number that he knew he would never forget. It rang twice, answered abruptly by a man on the other line.

The scruffy man looked even more worried than he had the minute before, now that his contact was on the phone. "It's me. I have an update on that NYC character you put the alert out for. No the other one. No," the invisible man sighed, "the _private_ alert. Yeah, he's not alone anymore," the man paused as his old partner spoke, then answered, "Well, Petrelli for one. No, Angela Petrelli—of _course_ Peter!" the spy bit out sarcastically. "You're not gonna like it. Fine, but don't kill the messenger, alright? It's Claire."

Claude Rains paused once more, then laughed. "Oh, I'm sure. They just popped back to Costa Verde—that's right, he's picked up teleportation. Should I check in a Nakamura? See if he knows anything…or if he's still alive?"

Nodding, Claude ended the conversation. "Got it. No problem. I'll keep you updated Bennet."

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

In a too-cheap motel room on the other side of the country, Noah Bennet hurled his cell phone at the wall irately.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

**Theeeere ya have it! Another shorter one, but second one in 24 hrs so that's pretty good, huh? I thought this was the perfect place to end this bit (never mind the part where I haven't come up where to continue from here).**

**I did want to mention something quickly… I received a review a few days ago thanking me profusely for not head hopping in this story… I got this review about thirty or forty minutes after I finished writing the Gabriel scene from chapter 3… haha. **

**While I do know that it can be annoying for authors to head-hop too much in their fics, I can also be vital to the plot, or even be a way of transforming their way out of a block, as fresh perspective/style can often have that effect. I DO want to keep this fic MOSTLY centered around Claire's pov, but Gabriel is going to have some pretty interesting reactions that we must be inside his head for =) and, as I said earlier, and as you can tell by the end of this chapter, I also use it for advancing the plot. So please, bear with me, and I'll try to make sure I'm not using that technique to the point where the story gets choppy and incoherent. Mkay? Thanks!**


	5. Showdowns and Wind Ups

**Ooooookie-dokie, first thing's first:**

**This chapter has intense 'M' scenes for just about the last half… If it's a problem for you, then skip it. I've marked the breakers as usual with a bunch of exclamation points to make it easier to skip… But if you do, don't miss the little bit at the end!**

**I guess that was the only point of order for this round. Enjoy!**

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

The first thing Noah Bennet did, once he had collected himself into _some_ sort of calm state, was call Lauren Gilmore. She was his former partner at the Company and now his current love interest. He had to use the phone at the motel since his cell phone was lying in pieces on the floor by the wall obviously beyond repair.

He had ordered Lauren to station herself outside Claire's apartment building with a stern warning that she call him as soon as she spotted Sylar "or _anyone_ with Claire; remember he's a shifter."

Settling himself on the edge of the tacky comforter Noah then removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "_Claire_," he growled. "How could you be such a stupid girl? I told you to stay away from him."

Why his daughter felt the need to be in contact with Sylar was only part of what ailed Noah. The much bigger part of this strange equation that added to his worries was what exactly Sylar wanted with_ Claire_.

"You have her power," he muttered out loud, as if the monster himself were right there in the room with him.

"What more could you want?" It was obvious, really, what more Sylar could want with Claire. And that's what troubled the concerned father beyond imagining. But that line of thinking sent Noah skyrocketing into an incredibly uncomfortable nauseous state, so he refused to acknowledge it.

"_Sylar isn't even capable of that," _his naïve daughter had claimed. That foolish statement only made the ex-Company man's blood boil. What did _she _know what that monster was capable of? And why did she care what Noah thought of him?

Sighing, he reclined back on the uncomfortable twin mattress. He had known immediately when Lauren told him that Sylar contacted Claire that it would get far more complicated than it needed to be. He couldn't ignore the nagging suspicion in the back of his mind that told him something more was going on, something that he couldn't see; or didn't want to see. Something that made Claire react to their dinner (or lack thereof) with such intense indignity and resentment.

"What did you say to her, you son of a bitch?" Noah growled out loud once more, practically feeling his sanity slipping away with each bit out word. "And what's your end game?"

He wanted to call Petrelli and ask him what the hell was going on; find out if he had seen or spoken to Claire at all recently. His hand floated over to the empty bedside table and then to his pocket before he realized that his cell phone still lay broken and useless in the corner of the room. He hissed a curse of aggravation for his hastily furious (albeit _appropriate_) reaction, and for not having more numbers memorized.

_Well… there's one number I remember that I can try._

Picking up the motel phone once more, Noah hesitantly punched out the number. It rang longer than it usually would have. What did that mean? After the fifth ring Noah began to panic. _What's taking so long? What is she doing? Is everything okay? Should I just go…?_

His thoughts ceased as the ringing stopped abruptly; then the hesitant, musical voice said, "…Hello?"

"Claire, it's Dad," he explained, "I'm calling from my motel room…I lost my cell."

He could almost hear the frown in her tone, "That's not like you."

"I know; I've been preoccupied. About the other night—"

"I'm sorry about that, Dad," his adopted daughter sighed. "I've just been pretty stressed and…I don't know, I think I'm just tired of people trying to protect me. It was immature of me to storm out like that, especially when it's been so long…Sorry," she apologized again.

"It's okay, Claire-bear. Believe it or not, I understand where you're coming from. You need to realize that you have a lot of people that love you that will always be watching out for you. But I promise sweetheart that I'll try to back off a little—"

"That's great," she interrupted, her voice slightly breathless and rushed. "I've actually gotta run—I'm really sorry. I'll call you soon, okay? Love you!" And just like that, their conversation appeared to be over.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

After stopping off to buy and activate a track phone (a convenient temporary solution until he could stop in for a new phone), Noah Bennet sat in the driver's seat of his car, staring at the keypad. _I almost don't want to know_…

After he dialed, the phone barely made it through one full ring before Lauren's voice assaulted him. "Noah?"

"Yes, have—"

Lauren interrupted him with a great sigh and a rush of words. "Thank God, I've been calling your room non-stop for ten minutes now! They left—together—walking. I followed. You need to get over here. I'm at 23rd and Haplan."

"I'll be there in five," he curtly responded, snapping his phone shut and revving the engine to life.

Four minutes and twenty-three seconds later, Noah pulled up behind his partner. He slid out from his car into hers deftly. As soon as he entered the vehicle the creases in his forehead furrowed a little deeper with worry when he saw the expression of grim determination on Lauren's lovely face. And he didn't like that look one little bit, yet he followed her field of vision where her eyes were locked straight ahead the whole time.

"They're having breakfast," she muttered rather disgustingly, waving a finger to where a young couple sat in the restaurant window. "He's having the waffles and she got French toast."

"What?" was all Noah could manage, as he peered ahead to watch his daughter and her should-be nemesis amicably talking over their meal.

"They're _holding hands_," Lauren stated incredulously. "You can't see it now but—wait—" she paused as a waitress swung by their table and Sylar raised his hand to beckon her back, pointing to what appeared to be their empty coffee mugs.

"_There_," Lauren proclaimed. Noah watched as Sylar brought his hand back down to the table, shifted slightly, and threaded his fingers into those of Claire's. The shy smile that lit up her face made Noah want to vomit.

"Did we get sucked into a parallel universe or something?" he asked, almost half serious.

"Am I dreaming?"

"I'm afraid not, Noah," she sighed. "You should have seen them walking together: bumping into and nudging each other, _racing_. It's like they're—" Lauren stopped speaking and pulled her eyes from Noah's, replacing her vision on the couple before them.

"Like they're what, Lauren?" Noah asked, and something in his voice made her cringe as she answered.

"_Dating_."

The word almost made him gag. "Let's go," he suggested, swinging the car door open and heading for the restaurant.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Claire couldn't believe how happy and carefree she felt once she finally decided to leave Sylar in the past forever. She actually had to stop herself from giggling as Gabriel placed a forkful of syrup-drenched waffles in her mouth.

"Mm!" she agreed, nodding as she chewed. When her bite had been properly masticated and swallowed, she added, "Those are some delicious waffles."

Gabriel's returning grin could have given her the power of flight, "I told you so!"

As Claire glanced down to the table, where their hands sat, fingers intertwined, the whole world seemed to stop- literally. Claire glanced up and around her, then back to Gabriel's face. He looked…mildly concerned. "What happened?" Claire questioned him anxiously.

"I stopped time. I wanted to give you a moment to have your panic attack and then collect yourself," at her blank stare, Gabriel nodded his head behind her, eyes darkening. "Your dad just walked in."

Claire felt panic claw up through her like a cat on curtains, and as she twisted around in her booth, all hopes of 'Well, maybe he hasn't seen us…' vanished when she spotted his frozen glare, focused solely on the pair of them.

She instinctively let a deep gulp of oxygen into her lungs and blew it out through her nose, slowly, demanding that her brain force her heart to start again. She clasped and then unclasped her hands together, ran them over her top, tucking her hair behind her ears; Gabriel sat still across from her, his only movement in his eyes as he watched Claire's nervous actions.

He couldn't gauge how she was going to react, that was why he had stopped time. He half expected her to beg him to help her escape; expected tears, at the very least. So he was surprised (pleasantly so) when Claire took another deep breath and began nodding.

"Well…" she shrugged. "It was going to happen sometime, right? I might as well get it over with."

"You're not scared?" Gabriel's head tilted slightly to the right, and Claire couldn't help thinking of the calculating gaze that Sylar always had pinned on her when he did that.

She gave him a small smirk that asked him if he really thought so little of her. "I can handle my father, thank you. I appreciate the heads up though," she added on seriously, giving him a grateful nod. Claire's stomach clenched and unclenched as she waited for time to start again.

Instead, Gabriel leaned over the table, bringing one of his warm hands to her cheek to guide her to him. His lips slipped over hers and he kissed her softly, deeply. When he pulled away, he was smiling at her like she'd never seen before.

"What?" Claire asked, a wave of self-consciousness washing over her for reasons unknown.

Gabriel just shook his head, replacing his hand over hers on the table. "You're just wonderful, is all."

Time began around her once more, but Claire felt as if it were still frozen. When Gabriel hastily pulled his hands under the table, Claire realized that her father was just finishing his march to their booth.

"Claire, Sylar!" he greeted, his cheerful tone so obviously fake that it nearly made Claire's stomach turn. "What a surprise!"

The man across from her leaned back in his booth, arms folded behind his head casually. "Not really," Sylar countered swiftly, "seeing as you've had your dogs tailing me for the past two weeks. I'm curious as to your sudden interest in me, Noah."

The young blonde's head bobbed back and forth between her father and—what was Gabriel… her friend, her lover, her partner?—to gauge the men's reactions.

She only gave a passing glance of interest to Lauren, who stood a foot behind Noah looking very much like she didn't want to be caught up in this. It was as if Sylar had decided to pop back in for vacation; the second her father showed up he started his little game of cat and mouse, goading him on relentlessly until he would lose control and—and what?

What would her adoptive father, Company man extraordinaire, do when he lost control?

"I've got a curiosity of the same nature, actually, regarding you and Claire. What are you two doing here?" he ground out the question through clenched teeth.

Gabriel was no longer an active participant of Noah's interrogation. Sylar was front and center now for all to see. And God, as much as Claire hated to admit it, her father really brought the beast out in him. Nevertheless the man in question gave Noah a breezy smile, raising his hands in innocence. "Just a couple of old acquaintances, catching up," he glanced over to Claire and gave her a wink as he caught her eye.

Noah Bennet had had enough, it seemed, because he turned his attention solely to Claire now. "How can you sit across from that monster after everything he's done to your family?" he hissed.

Up until this point Claire really hadn't been sure what she was feeling. But now she felt anger bloom inside her. It was something deeper than anger, really. More like…rage…or fury. "I know full well what Sylar has done," she stated softly, her head bowed.

She looked up at her father slowly, her anger glinting in her eyes dangerously. "But everything that was done was done to _me_. He didn't kill _your_ parents, or cut _your_ head open, or make _you_ miserable for six years—it was me. So don't _you_ worry about who I'm hanging around because it's for _me_ to deal with, not you."

Her father gave her that familiar look, the one that said 'Claire-Bear, you're being childish and you need to grow up and listen to me. That was the one expression that was so condescending; it made her crazy enough to want to claw his face off. "Claire," he started, and her ears nearly automatically shut off at his patronizing tone, "Sylar took Nathan from _all _of us, not just you."

"_Don't… You… DARE_ talk about Nathan," Claire hissed at him, about ready to slap him and storm out. _Stay calm, Claire_, she told herself,_ storming out _is_ childish. You have to work through this…somehow…_ "You always hated him and you don't give a shit that he's gone—you proved that much when you had a hand in throwing Sylar into his body without _any_ consideration for me, or Peter, or Nathan."

Noah shifted uncomfortably; Lauren had a hand over her mouth in surprise. "Maybe this isn't the best place for this conversation," he tried, glimpsing around them to see if they'd been noticed.

"Well that's too bad, because this is where it's happening," his daughter declared, and she stood up and pushed Gabriel over to sit next to him, gesturing to the empty booth across from them. "Please have a seat," she requested sickly-sweet.

Noah obliged; Lauren still looked as if she wanted to make a run for it. Claire was proud of Gabriel when he allowed her to slowly slide in next to her partner instead of forcing her to like a doll. When they'd settled across from them, Noah began again.

"Claire, this is _Sylar_ we're talking about."

"No," she corrected as softly as she could considering her furious state, "_This_ is Gabriel. _Sylar_ is what you and Elle made him."

Noah appeared flustered for a moment, embarrassment clearly etched across his face. Claire had somehow found out about the crucial role he had played in the downfall of Gabriel Gray. It had not been his proudest moment. But it was a secret he had hoped to keep hidden from his family.

"That's right," Claire continued on in a hushed, angry tone, "I know all about that. All about how you goaded him into acquiring another ability. About how you practically _hand-fed _him someone's _life_—"

"Claire," it wasn't her father who interrupted her, but Gabriel, "that's enough," he stated softly, "It's in the past."

Claire glanced over to Gabriel nodding slightly as she fell silent. She sighed as she mulled over what title to give him. Claire wasn't sure of that exactly. But one thing was certain; she wanted Gabriel around more and more. His presence alone was comforting as she gained the strength to confront her father. She slightly smiled as the pair of them looked at Noah simultaneously. And when Gabriel's hand found Claire's thigh underneath the tabletop, giving it a reassuring squeeze, she knew then he'd never leave her side, ever.

As she felt the warmth of his touch, the butterflies in her stomach began to flutter madly. The idea of sitting across from her father and his, partner…girlfriend while having such intimate contact with Gabriel excited and empowered her. One of her own hands found her belly, in a vain attempt to soothe the imaginary winged creatures within, as the other placed itself over Gabriel's on her knee.

They all sat there in silence before Claire finally found the appropriate words, "People change."

Noah's gaze darkened on her small form, darting furiously over to her company from time to time. "Not all people change, Claire."

Claire had had enough. Taking Gabriel's hand firmly in one of her own, she stood. "Well, some people _do_, Noah," Gabriel stood with her, tossing two twenties down on the table, leaving quite a generous tip for their waitress.

"You, contrarily, _never_ will," she stated with finality.

And that was it. As easy as that, Claire had decided to shove her only remaining father and all of his concerns out of her mind. After all, it was hard enough for her to concentrate just holding Gabriel's hand.

With their heads held high they silently departed from the restaurant. And after a few short paces Gabriel led her to an alley just a block down. "You did so well," he praised her while clasping his large hands around her face lovingly. "I'm so proud of you, Claire."

That was when the poor cheerleader lost it, though. She let the tears in her eyes brim over, and a sob escaped her throat as she buried her face into Gabriel's chest. "That was hard," she moaned into his shirt.

Gabriel stroked her hair, shushing her as he pulled her back to wipe away her tears. "Do you want me to take you home?"

Claire shook her head. "No. He can find me there."

"Where then?" Gabriel murmured against her cheek.

"Yours," Claire answered softly, tilting her head up so her lips could find his; the feeling was so second-nature to her now that it scared her.

And in blink of an eye, they were gone from the space they had just occupied in the alley. Then in the next moment they rematerialized in Gabriel's bedroom.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Noah darted out of the small eatery, searching anxiously for his daughter; they _couldn't_ leave things like this. He had to know why…

Why Sylar? Why did she call him Gabriel now? Why was she holding his hand?

Noah Bennet was extremely lucky yet at the same time ill-fated in his choice of direction. Lucky in the sense that it was actually the same route his daughter and her…'friend' had fled.

Although that luck ran out the moment he reached the corner of the first alleyway only to spot his beloved daughter wrapped in the arms of his nemesis, lips pressed together as if they were sustaining each other's lives.

And then in an instant they were gone.

**O!o!O!o!O!o!O!o!O!o!O**

Their lips never broke contact as they stumbled backwards and fell to Gabriel's queen-sized bed. He rolled them over so he hung over Claire. He couldn't help the smile that had found its way onto his lips. Seeing her lie breathless beneath him was enough to make him want to cry with joy.

"Claire," he groaned against her luscious mouth. "God, I love you." Crap! Did he just say that? Would he live to regret uttering the very words that could finally obliterate his fragile mind and heart? _Stupid_, he thought, _you're lucky to have this much of her, why would you push it so—_

"Funny thing, about emotions," she whispered hotly into his ear, her ample bosom heaving for oxygen. He could actually feel her small tight body quivering under his with what- anticipation or maybe fright?

But then she made the most astonishing declaration, "Hate can turn to love at the drop of a hat. I fucking _hated_ Sylar."

Claire brought her hands up to pull his face down to hers, giving him a heated, desperate kiss. "But I _love_ Gabriel. I love him. I love _you_," she breathed against his skin, quick enough for it to be considered one word instead of three separate thoughts; Gabriel crushed his mouth to hers with equal desperation.

Claire hugged his body to hers, her hands slipping under his black t-shirt to glide over his bare skin. Shivers of delight coursed through his body as her fingers ran up and down his back. After a minute of examining his taut flesh, Claire's hands fisted around the bottom of the fabric and ripped it up and off of him, which brought on an unbearable separation of their lips if only for a few seconds.

The primal male in Gabriel couldn't help interpreting Claire's sudden aggressiveness as an open invitation to ravage her. And for a brief moment he actually considered using his telekinesis to strip her down to her unmentionables. He decided, however, to savor the feeling of slowly removing each article clothing her by hand, piece by piece.

In fact, ever since he had laid eyes on her at Homecoming, some part of him had always imagined this moment. Although he to admit to himself, that during that time he had lusted for her power more than her body. But still, even as a young girl, Claire had been a budding beauty. Yet he wasn't joking when he thought this moment wouldn't happen for at least another century or two. He had known his limitations, given the fact that she had been still terribly underage.

But that was six years ago and since then Claire's beauty and maturity had grown by leaps and bounds. And even though to the untrained eye she physically still resembled that innocent teenager he first encountered at Union Wells High School, she was all woman now, and all _his_.

Spurred on by his burgeoning desire, he ripped Claire's blouse open, in complete disregard for the buttons holding it together. He gasped as he found himself frozen at the sight of her bare chest heaving underneath his.

Everything seemed to slow down as he slowly leaned in to slowly press his hungry lips to her warm skin. His mouth, wet and wanting, was eager to explore the contours of her neck, shoulder, the rounded top of her breast. Claire, desperate to feel his lips, twisted her arms behind her quickly to release them from the confines of her lacy red bra.

The garment, in Gabriel's opinion, looked _stunning_ on her. However a few seconds later he amended his assessment the moment the full mounds of her breasts came into view.

Yet despite the erotic vision display before him, the insecure, jealous part of Gabriel reared its ugly head, as he wondered who else had seen the fetching lacy bra on her…or off her….

Wanting to stake his claim he quickly and possessively wrapped his lips around one of her nipples. A small gasp escaped from Claire panting mouth when she felt his long wet tongue expertly flick at the sensitive nub which caused her to shiver in response. The noises she made elicited a hearty growl of pleasure from her lover as he felt the rush of blood and adrenaline to his groin. Instinctively Gabriel began to grind his pelvis into hers in a delicious clockwise motion as he continued to suckle at both her breasts.

Drunk with lust Claire's hands flew to the front of his jeans. Her shaking fingers fumbled, so Gabriel undid the button and zipper for her with naught but a thought. His gaze met hers as Claire tugged his jeans down over his slight hips. The blush that blossomed in her cheeks at his large arousal and lack of underwear made him chuckle. Gabriel brought his lips back up to hers.

"Are you sure—" but Claire's hands were already working on her own pants, and Gabriel's voice died. As he found his mouth useless for talking, he decided to bring it back to Claire's soft, full lips, kissing her with the most gentle passion he could muster—he could screw the hell out of her later; this time—this _first_ time—Gabriel wanted to have her slowly, sensually, lovingly.

His large hands trailed up and down her bare sides of their own accord before coming up to cup her breasts, giving them a decent squeeze. Claire broke their kiss with a snort and giggle. Gabriel couldn't help but laugh with her, "What?"

Claire's blush intensified, and she redirected her gaze to some point over his shoulder. "Are you—" Gabriel didn't quite know how to ask her, "Have you…never done this before?" she bit her lip and shook her head in response, looking thoroughly embarrassed. Gabriel tried to find words for her, could only breathe her name in longing as if she were a goddess come to earth.

"I…I'm okay with this—" she paused, frowning, "I _want_ you to be my first—my only," she whispered instead, looking away once more. Gabriel caught her cheek and turned it back to him; staring down into her green eyes, he couldn't even name what emotion he was feeling.

"I love you, Claire," he told her again and for a second they were back in Costa Verde, Claire lying skulless on the coffee table, Sylar bent over her, bleeding.

_How do we make love stay?_

_No,_ he thought angrily. _Forget all of that. It's Gabriel that she wants, not Sylar. She loves Gabriel._

She had undone her pants, but they still remained wrapped around her hips; Gabriel decided to correct this, sliding them down her long, smooth legs slowly. The matching red lace underwear—the only garment that clothed her at this point—sent Gabriel's heart racing. His lustful gaze never leaving hers, he hooked his fingers into the material and peeled it off of her; she kicked them off the rest of the way once they reached her ankles, and seized two handfuls of his hair to force his lips back up to hers.

"Take me, Gabriel," she moaned into his mouth, pressing her naked form up into his with longing. Gabriel positioned his throbbing member against Claire's entrance, a shudder running through him as he realized how wet she'd become during their brief session of foreplay.

Her name fell from his lips once more as he pushed inside of her.

**O!o!O!o!O!o!O!o!O!o!O**

As Gabriel entered Claire slowly, very slowly—_torturously_ slowly—she focused her mind on nothing but his dark eyes boring into hers; she had the distinct feeling she was being worshipped.

_Good God, good God, good God, good God_, was the only thought happening in Claire's mind every time Gabriel thrust into her; she kept her lips pressed tightly together, as she had soon realized that every time she opened them all that came out were embarrassingly unintelligible moans and yelps.

Gabriel's lips and tongue assaulted her neck as he moved in and out of her, and Claire let herself melt back into the soft bed beneath her, unable to even keep grasping to his body as he played her like a violin. She felt a familiar burning forming in the very pit of her, but it was building stronger than she'd ever been able to achieve before.

Gabriel shifted them—nearly instantaneously—so he was mostly upright, with one of her legs thrown over his shoulder; the amazing new sensation that washed over her as he hit her center with every thrust made Claire cry out in pleasure. "Yes!" was the only word of encouragement she could give to him—he was supposed to deduce that that meant he needed to keep doing exactly what he was doing for the next decade at least; Claire never wanted this feeling to end.

Good things _do_ end though, and great things end faster; Claire felt her entire body spasm with pleasure as she climaxed, the most amazing feeling of all probably being that Gabriel was still sliding in and out of her as she came, providing that much more lubrication for him.

She felt a few tears roll down her cheeks and wondered if that usually happened to women during sex, or if this was one of those rare cases of amazingly "orgasmic" sex; if it were the latter she was, indeed, holding on to Gabriel for the rest of eternity.

She gasped and moaned as his lips trailed over her breasts and neck, wanting to scream with bliss as she felt a second orgasm building; Gabriel brought a hand down between their bodies to rub her clit, and the jolt that ran through her brought Claire over the edge for the second time in five minutes. This time, Gabriel came with her, his lips crashing down to hers as he buried himself inside her one last time.

They stayed that way, tangled up in each other and panting for air; their chests were smashed together like one, making it impossible to ignore each other's pounding hearts. Eventually, their pulses slowed, and Gabriel kissed Claire tenderly before he pulled out of her. Before Claire could form a thought Gabriel had them under the covers once more, his body pressed flush against her back. He brushed her hair over her shoulder so he could put his lips there, and Claire sighed.

She let her heavy eyelids close, relishing in the leftover adrenaline and endorphins racing through her veins. She loved the feeling of his warm body against hers, felt protected and loved wrapped in his arms.

"I love you," Claire murmured softly as sleep took her swiftly.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

A fisted hand found the door and repeated the process three times. A moment later, the door was swung open, a shorter Japanese man, almost boyish in his features stood in the space where it had been.

"Hiro Nakamura, good to see you're still breathing," Claude Rains greeted, a weight seeming to lift off of his chest at the sight of the hero. "If you've got some time I've got a few questions for you…regarding Sylar."

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

**Haha, that's the end! But no complaining but I gave you a sex scene. And don't expect the next chapter up very soon because this Claude/Hiro scene is going to be a bitch for me to write. As always thanks for the reads, reviews, faves, alerts etc.**

**Oh, and I'm not going to lie and let you think that I came up with it all on my own, lol: That line about Claire feeling as if she were being worshipped isn't mine. In fact, I blatantly stole it from a Draco/Ginny HP fic, of which I can't remember the name or author =( BUT! Know that it was HER genius that wrote that line first, and I couldn't resist because it is just absolutely beautiful, and I think it really helps define the difference between having sex, screwing, etc, and **_**making love**_**.**

**Love Live and Prosper,**

**Nattie**


End file.
